


Fix My Feet When They're Stumblin'

by smoky_cloud



Category: The Killers (Band)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 18:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 67
Words: 118,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20262631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoky_cloud/pseuds/smoky_cloud
Summary: Born out of a victim's boredom during hiatus - The Killers' journey of making a new album and adventures touring around the world. (Speculative regarding TK6, set present day)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this story's conclusion, I will donate fifty cents for every comment left across Wattpad and AO3, combined, to the Brain Injury Association of America (BIAA) to raise awareness for traumatic brain injury.

Delicate piano notes drifted through the air in the empty studio, pieces of songs long admired and songs yet to be born. It had been a long, sometimes frustrating, but fulfilling process, working on this new album, but the finish line was in sight. Soon the days of sleeping in the studio would be behind them. No more working through the night, wracking his brain for a better way to phrase a line or endless questioning of every note: "Is it good enough?"

Absently, Brandon Flowers' long fingers drifted over the piano keys, mixing bits of his own songs with snippets from Elton John, U2 and Midnight Oil, creating a kind of bizarre, impromptu medley. The Killers were working on their sixth album now, nearly two decades into the band's lifecycle, and each album had been more difficult than the last.

The pressure of the great musicians who had come before them, and their own innumerable hits, weighed on him more heavily with each passing year. He couldn't help dwelling on doubts every time they set out to make new music: is this worth putting on an album? What do we have left to contribute? Can we still make an impact?

Sometimes he felt unbelievably confident and proud of the works of art they were producing, and then minutes later he would be seized by the sudden urge to throw everything away and start anew. But this wasn't his first rodeo, and he knew once they released the album into the world, once their fans embraced it and began to hold the new music at the same hallowed heights as their classics produced over the years...once the fans claimed their new music as their own, he would feel differently and his confidence would be bolstered. They only had to release it, and they had finally finished recording - they only had to wait for the final mastering.

A heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts - he jumped and twisted, momentarily alarmed, before relaxing.

"Hey, Ron." He greeted his drummer and longtime friend with a smile. "What are you doing back here? There's nothing else we can do now." Ronnie, dressed in a blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt and shorts, snorted and held up a white bag of McDonald's.

"I could ask you the same question, B. It's almost one in the morning, go home already." Ronnie unfolded the top of the bag and passed a hamburger to his friend with a smile, before pulling a pouch of french fries out of the bag for himself.

"Oh, is it? I didn't realize...time got away from me, I guess." Brandon paused in unwrapping his dinner to gaze through the window at the control room, with its metallic panels and countless switches. "Just...worried about the album, that's all. I don't know...it's amazing, but what if the fans don't like it? We owe them everything, you know?"

Ronnie fiddled with his paper napkin and shrugged. "If there's anything we've learned from the last seventeen years, it's that you can't please everyone, no matter how much you kill yourself trying. Besides, we've seen the same pattern with every album, the fans aren't sure at first and then over time - bam, it's a classic. I believe in these songs, I think they're some of our best work in years!

"But there are people who would never be happy with anything except Hot Fuss 2 or Sam's Town 2, and nobody in this band wants that...I don't even think the fans do, really. How stale and boring would that be?

"We've had more fun with this album than I can remember since...well, since making Hot Fuss in that dinky little home studio. We're keeping it fresh and having fun and exploring new territory- we know dozens of bands who flamed out by now because they couldn't do the same, they kept trying to recreate their first album. We won't fall into that trap, Brandon."

The corners of Brandon's eyes crinkled as he grinned, nodding at his friend. "You're right as usual, of course. We've definitely had more fun with this album - can you believe we really got all those people to make music with us? I mean - Johnny Marr, The Edge! I keep thinking maybe it's just a dream and I'm gonna wake up and it's all gonna be over. They really wanted to create music with us - with _us,_ Ronnie!

"It just doesn't feel real, we're just a couple of kids from Vegas still...it's like, what do they want to work with us for? Even though I know we're huge, bigger than most bands can dream of, it still feels weird, doesn't it?"

Finished with his burger, Brandon folded the wrapped into ever-smaller squares, momentarily focused on his task, before looking back up at Ronnie with a giggle. "It's just so cool, I kept staring at them in the studio, like 'Are you really here right now?' It's unbelievable."

Ronnie nodded emphatically, gesturing at the door to the studio. "I thought I was gonna have a heart attack when Johnny walked through the door. I kinda wish we had done that ages ago, it was so inspiring to have all those people, our idols, making songs with us...and intimidating as hell. But you know, even if we had been in a position to do this years ago, I doubt any of them would have given us the time of day back then.

"We've paid our dues now, we're almost on their level...and you're right, it feels weird to even think that sentence. It's like blasphemy. Me, up there with The Smiths? U2? Like I texted you the other day; someone asked me when I think we'd be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame yesterday and it hit me, it really hit me...that probably will happen one day, won't it? It's not even really a question anymore."

Brandon's eyes widened, and he looked down at the table, studying the wood grain. "God, I hope so...can you imagine? We've spent so long working our asses off trying to touch people with our music, that would be...wow. We really would live forever in a way, you know? That's...wow."

Ronnie gathered their trash and stood to toss the bag in the garbage can by the door, and grabbed Brandon's truck keys off the hook by the door, tossing them on the table in front of him.

"It's gonna happen, just wait. We deserve it. Now go home to your wife and your nice cushy house you worked your ass off for, won't you? See you on Tuesday for the final listening and our tour planning meeting with the label."

Ronnie closed the door behind him, and Brandon was again alone in the dim studio, listening as his drummer's truck started and then drove away, leaving silence in its wake. Brandon sighed, thinking of the work to come, then picked up his keys, turned off the studio lights and locked the door behind him, ready to go home and leave the band on the backburner for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

The vibration of Brandon's phone in the cup holder of his truck startled him out of his reverie as he drove down the dusty Utah highway. He fumbled to turn off the stereo, which had been blaring The Cure, and grabbed his phone. "Yeah? Oh, hi Ronnie - on my way, sorry. I had to drop off the kids this morning for Tana. Be there in ten. Cool, see you."

Blindly dropping the phone back into the cupholder, he turned off of the highway and navigated the suburban streets, pulling into the tiny studio parking lot just as their booking agent closed his own car door. He spotted Brandon's truck and paused by his car, waiting. Brandon parked hastily and slipped out of his truck, giving their agent a halfhearted wave as he stepped past him to open the studio door. "Hey, Steve. How've you been?"

"Oh, busy!" Their agent replied with a chuckle, following him into the studio. Ronnie sat at the table they had used for their midnight snack earlier that week, accompanied by their tour manager, Jeremy. The booking agent set his laptop on the table and pulled up a file for them to review. "So, this is what we've come up with. You guys said you wanted to visit some new places this time, and do more than one show in more countries so more fans have a chance to see you...we've added seven new countries to your tour itinerary, they're all pretty big for you for streaming and social media traffic, I think they'll be great crowds. Overall there are 28 more shows than the last tour, but we've added bigger gaps in between the legs, so you have at least three weeks off when you finish America, Europe, and so on. Of course that means the actual length of the tour is longer, but you do have a higher proportion of time home vs time on the road this time - we didn't think anyone would mind that," Steve added with a grin, glancing at Ronnie and Brandon, who both smiled and shook their heads.

They spent several minutes perusing the list of dates, becoming more enthusiastic as the meeting stretched on. "This looks great, Steve, thanks! I think we're good to check with everyone else, make sure the dates will work with everyone," Ronnie finally said, leaning back in his chair. Jeremy pulled his phone out of his pocket and started typing. "I'll run the tour dates by everyone and let you all know if there are any conflicts," he said absently, already scrolling through his contacts list to find the touring crew, musicians and backup singers. Decisions made, the booking agent and tour manager made their exits to take care of business, and Brandon and Ronnie were left to deal with their next task for the day, one they had both been anticipating for months. Ariel and Jacknife, their producers, had sent the final mix of the new album early that morning, and they were both itching to hear their new work in all its glory. Finished at long last.

Brandon locked the studio door and turned off his cell phone to prevent interruptions while Ronnie handled the computer duties, retrieving the email and opening the first file, connecting two pairs of headphones to the computer with an adapter and turning the volume up. Returning to his chair with such gusto that he nearly tipped the chair over, Brandon grinned at Ronnie as he slipped his own headphones over his ears. Ronnie was outwardly much more composed than Brandon, but he noted with a sudden little burst of affection that Ronnie's fingers were shaking as he pressed the play button.

\- - - - -

Five hours later, after three consecutive runs through the entire album, the pair were finally ready to deliver a verdict. Ronnie's face was glowing like a child on Christmas morning as he pulled the headphones down around his neck. "That..." He paused for a long moment, shaking his head, and Brandon grinned at him. "Was incredible," he whispered, filling in the blank with the word they had both been thinking. "I mean...fuck. I kinda can't believe we made that, and I haven't felt like that since Sam's Town, not _that_ good, you know? They're all amazing but this album, Ron...wow."

Ronnie nodded, scrolling through the track listing shown on the screen. "It's so fucking good, every second of it. I mean, it's early and we've gotta listen to it another couple dozen times to be absolutely sure, but...I wouldn't change a thing, would you?"

Brandon's grin slipped a little, uncertainty crowding out the joy on his face, like clouds on a sunny day. "Well..." A long pause strenched between them as he gathered his thoughts; Ronnie could practically see the wheels of doubt turning, planting seeds in his heart. "...I just...I just wish things were different with the band, you know? I...this might be our best album ever - at least to us - but it just doesn't feel right, I guess. It feels...it just feels wrong. And I know, I know, we gave Dave plenty of time to come out, and it was just what he wanted right now, and we couldn't wait forever, but...I don't know," he shrugged. "It's stupid, I guess."

Ronnie sighed and rolled his own shoulders, easing out the stiffness from sitting at the computer for hours. "Of course it's not stupid, Brandon. It's normal, I feel it too...its been the same way for forever with us, the same four guys year after year, but I feel like that also can kind of be a bad thing, kind of stifling. We've made some magic together, the four of us, we really have. But I think this album, what we just heard, what we just made...it proves that we don't need all of us to make something really fucking incredible. We know that now. And I know we've talked about it before and we'll probably be having this conversation for months because it needs to be said, but...it's what we all wanted, really, in the end. Dave didn't feel like he could handle working on Killers album right now, and we wanted to make an album. Mark's on here, some of his best stuff, maybe, but when we don't have Mark we've got some other equally amazing bassists doing equally amazing stuff...and god, it was so fun. I know we both had a blast making this one, and I think it shows, I think you can feel that through the music, you know?" He'd been watching his friend's face intently as he pieced together his response, and he was glad to see some of the tension melt away.

"It _was_ fun, wasn't it?" Brandon admitted, a wistful smile returning, his face lighting up and Ronnie had a brief flash of what he must have looked like as a child, bright-eyed and joyful. "And this tour, all these new places, new people for us to reach, new fans to make...we're _doing_ it. I mean, making music is fun but the real magic happens live now. It's just so - it's so much fun to watch all those faces when we perform. They're always so happy, and it's...we _did_ that, right? _We_ did that, we made all those people happy. It's the most amazing feeling, like we're actually making a difference. I only..."

He shifted in his chair, suddenly breaking eye contact and fidgeting restlessly with his hands. "I just wish I could take my family with me everywhere, though. It's...hard...for them. For all of us. And for you too, I know, you're not much of a fan of long tours either, toward the end, but...I don't know," Brandon sighed heavily and seemed to shrink before Ronnie's eyes. "I don't know how much longer we can keep doing...this," he waved a hand vaguely around the studio.

"I - I wish we'd all be Killers forever until we're sixty and doing residencies in Vegas, but...I'm not sure that will happen," he admitted. He was speaking to the empty table between them, eyes downcast. His voice, always soft, had progressively dropped in volume as he continued with his confession, as though divulging a great secret - which Ronnie knew he had. He suspected that Brandon had privately wrestled with that secret for many years now, since his first son was born, and that events in recent years would have certainly made that voice in his head louder and louder over time. It had probably cost Brandon a lot to admit just to himself that he might not be able to make the band last as long as he had dreamed.

"Look," Ronnie sighed, reaching over to touch Brandon's forearm lightly, startling him into looking up at his friend. "I can't pretend to know what it's like for you guys, you know I never would. I can't imagine how hard it must be, really. But can I tell you what I see? I see a family that is turning something fucking terrible and horrifying and awful into something beautiful, something wonderful. You guys, all of you...you're all making the world a better place, every day, and you're doing so much good for so many people. You get to do it on a bigger scale than most people with the band, that's all, but your wife and your kids make everyone they meet a little happier too. You have a special family, anyone could see that.

"But if the band ended tomorrow, if this album never came out and we never played another show, if we never wrote another song...that would be okay because all those millions of people who listened to our music and went to our shows and cried when they met us, those people would still have everything we've given them. Nothing's ever gonna take that away. They're always gonna have that, and so will we. I mean, we've already met tons of fans who are raising their kids to be Victims, right? That's something special we've all made together, that's something most people could never imagine in their wildest dreams. But us...Brandon, we're _living_ our wildest dreams right now. And if it ends tomorrow, it was a good run, the very best...but we're gonna enjoy the hell out of every fucking minute we have left, whether that's one day or another thirty years. We never given anything less than our best and the world knows that, every one of those beautiful people at our shows knows that we put our best foot forward every day and we're never gonna stop doing that. Right?"

Brandon's eyes were bright and misty with tears and he didn't respond, just nodded quickly. "No crying, you're gonna make me cry too," Ronnie joked. "But really, everything will be alright, B. No matter what happens with the band. I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

Backstage at the Borgata, Brandon and Ronnie's dressing room was a hive of activity, the door propped open as several people milled around and ran in and out on errands less than two hours before showtime. Brandon sat alone in the corner, dressed in dark gray slacks and a white button-down shirt subtly interwoven with fine silvery metallic thread - his matching jacket hung on a peg near the door, proudly displaying its silver embroidery, an intricate pattern of stars that seemed to fade and then pop in the changing light. Brandon clutched a half-empty bottle of Coca-Cola in his hands, spinning it nervously and staring blankly at the bright red label as the bottle rotated. His first in-person interview about the new album was in a few minutes, and he knew once this one was published, they would learn where they stood with the fans. Wishing desperately that the magazine had asked Ronnie to interview with him, Brandon bit his lip, then rubbed his hand over his face to wipe away the layer of sweat. Ronnie was so much more confident than he was, even in the face of the unknown - a quality that Brandon had never admired more than in these last several months, as it became clear that this new album would need to dip into uncharted waters. Never before had they needed to rely so heavily on outside musicians, but as they progressed in the album's creation, Dave continued to focus on his fledgling solo career and new marriage, and he hadn't been able to find the time to work with them. They had needed to outsource guitarists - circumstances in Mark's life made it difficult for him this time around, too, and so they found themselves recruiting guest bassists as well.

It had turned out to be a welcome, if unexpected, change, definitely; Ronnie and Brandon had had many late-night conversations about how invigorating and rejuvenating they had both found the experience. It had been indescribably inspirational, to have the honor and privilege of working with so many storied musicians. It was something Brandon never could have imagined even in his most ambitious daydreams, back when they were merely a garage band performing to a handful of people in a Las Vegas club who had found their drinks more interesting than the band in front of them. Still, no matter how serendipitous the turn of events had been for them, he knew many of their fans would be dismayed...perhaps even genuinely angry, once the news broke officially. He couldn't blame them if they were; he was still adjusting to the change himself. It was a big adjustment, almost as difficult and jarring as his first foray into a solo career, his first serious attempt at making music without Dave, Mark or Ronnie by his side. But, he mused, they had lasted a long time, longer than most bands before them had under the kind of pressure that came with being a rock band of their caliber. And perhaps for their next album, things would be back to normal.

"...you ready?" A man's brusque voice interrupted his thoughts suddenly, startling Brandon so much that he jumped, nearly spilling his soda. He looked up at a tall, reedy blond man about his age, holding a small portable voice recorder and microphone and a spiral-bound notebook. "Mr. Flowers? Bobby Jindal with Q, are you ready for our interview?"

"Oh! Um - yes, please!" He jumped to his feet to shake the man's hand, realizing too late that it would have more polite to skip it as the reporter hastily juggled his items to free his hand. "It's so nice to meet you, Bobby - uhh, Brandon is fine. Please, sit!" He said, waving at the empty chair in front him and sinking quickly back into his own seat. "Thank you so much for having me, I appreciate it."

"Of course, of course, can't pass up The Killers, can we? Everyone is chomping at the bit to be the first big cover story for your new record, we're just so honored you chose the Q. I understand you'll be premiering a new song or two tonight, is that right? How do you feel about that? Must be exciting."

"Definitely, new songs are always some of my favorites. If I could, I would just play the whole new album every night for every new tour. But - but obviously that won't be happening," he added with a nervous giggle. "Ronnie and I think the songs we've got for tonight will be a hit, though, and we can't wait for everyone to hear the whole album in a few months."

Brandon could see something sharpen in the reporter's eyes at Ronnie's name, and he pounced. "I wanted to ask, it's not a secret that things didn't quite go to plan on your last album with your guitarist, Dave Keuning. How did everything shake out this time? Who is playing and writing with you on the album?"

"Dave couldn't - couldn't make it out for us on this one, and Mark is on about half the album, so it's mostly just Ronnie and me and then we were lucky enough to invite some people we admire out to play with us to fill in the gaps, and they said yes. It was a great experience, really. I had big dreams all along, that's not a secret, but I...I never, ever imagined when we were starting out that one day we'd be writing songs with Elliott Easton or Johnny Marr. It's just _incredible_ and it was so much fun to have the privilege to work with them. It really...it made us feel lazy, to get to see how some of those people work, you know...we idolize them."

Bobby Jindal nodded. "But everything's good with the band?

This man was fishing and Brandon refused to take the bait. "Everything is fine," he said firmly, and fortunately the reporter accepted the answer and moved on, but he kept prodding for information about the band dynamics every few questions. Half an hour later, the interview concluded and Brandon gratefully stood from his chair, stretching his back lazily, and caught a welcome glimpse of Ronnie leaning against the wall, nodding to the reporter as he left their dressing room.

They both waited until the reporter was out of earshot, then Ronnie quietly closed the door. He looked to Brandon expectantly, an amused quirk to his eyebrows as he noted Brandon's sweaty palms and glistening face. "Well, how'd it go?"

Brandon shrugged, heaving a great sigh as he fell backwards onto the scuffed gray leather couch. "Ohhh, I don't know...he just kept grilling me on Mark and Dave mostly, they want dirt. Some drama or whatever."

Ronnie let out a barking laugh and settled onto the couch beside him. "Oh, I can give them dirt if they want dirt. Sorry, you know I would've done it with you if they'd wanted me. I hate to make you do our first big interview alone."

Brandon heard the slight note of apology in Ronnie's tone and smiled softly, leaning into him briefly in response. "Oh, I'm sure you're sick of me by now," he teased, "You were probably off on a mini date with Olivia, huh?

Ronnie smiled. "Obviously. We went for frozen yogurt, her choice."

Nodding, Brandon fiddled with a loose string in the stitching of the couch arm. "Nah, it's just part of the job, you know, they always want me...and I didn't think about it when we started, that I'd have to do a lot of this stuff alone, but I know the drill by now. It's alright, mostly," he added with a wry smile. "It's just way more fun with you there, especially with things...being the way they are right now, with The Killers. I do...I do really, really appreciate you being there with me, you know, Ronnie. I don't think I could ever tell you that enough. It's so much easier than doing it by myself. So thanks, Ron, really."

Ronnie grinned at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No problem, B, really - I can't let you have all the fun, can I? I want my share of irritating, dirt-digging reporters, too. Anyway, I actually came down to tell you we've got less than an hour til go time, just wanted to check up on you and see if I needed to crack some skulls over at the Q when we go back to England."

Brandon's giggle, Ronnie imagined, was something like the sound a mouse would make if mice had been blessed with the ability to laugh. It never failed to cheer him up, that ridiculous, stupid, precious, mousy giggle coming out of a nearly 40-year old man.

"Let's go kick some ass, chuckles."


	4. Chapter 4

From his seat high up on stage behind the drum kit, Ronnie always had a decent view of the first few rows of fans at their gigs, and the sight of their expressions during the debut of their new songs filled his heart with pride. He never tired of that moment, giving these small groups of fans the opportunity to be the first in the world to hear these new pieces of art they had created. It was always nerve-wracking, especially for Brandon, who fed off of the energy of crowd, because that energy always dropped to zero when they were hearing new material for the first time - they wanted to hear the music clearly and absorb it. But the fans' expressions tonight could only be described as awestruck, and at the end of each new song the venue exploded with joyful noise, deafening cheers and whistles and enthusiastic applause. Pausing to grab his water bottle, Brandon looked up at his drummer, a grin lighting up his face. "They like it, Ron," he called, and Ronnie rolled his eyes at him.

"Of course they do, it's fucking awesome!"

The energy the rest of the gig was electric, building all the way through until suddenly, all too soon, they had finished the set. Tossing his drumsticks out to the screaming crowd, Ronnie accepted a fresh towel from a crew member and joined the rest of the band backstage. Usually, there was a period of quiet after their shows as the tired band members recuperated, but tonight the atmosphere backstage was loud and boisterous, filled with excitement as they dissected the crowd's reactions to the new material and scoured social media for fans' first impressions. Ronnie opened the fridge and picked out a beer and a green glass bottle of Perrier sparking water, then made his way back to the dressing room.

Slipping inside, he was immediately greeted by a joyful exclamation of "Ron!!!" and a tight hug. Brandon had clearly just finished taking a quick shower - his hair was wet and he had traded his glittery stage clothes for dark jeans and his faded black Battle Born t-shirt. "It's not - it's not just us, the fans like it, too! You know - w-we knew it was good, but sometimes we're not so good at guessing what the fans will think - b-but they really liked it!" Brandon's grin was so wide it nearly reached his ears and he was so excited that he was stuttering more than usual in his haste to get his words out. His grin grew even bigger when Ronnie held out the bottle of Perrier.

"Thought you could use one, Brandon," Ronnie said with a smirk, popping the lid off of his own beer.

"Ah, thank you! I love you," Brandon sighed, his eyes moving from Ronnie's face to the familiar green bottle as his giant grin settled into a satisfied smile. Taking a swig of the water, he turned to his battered navy blue suitcase, lying open next to the dressing room couch - it appeared he had already started packing up to return to the tour bus.

"Man, that _was_ a good gig. The crowd was on fire all night. And it just feels good, getting back on stage. It's really been a minute." Ronnie stretched his arms over his head, but then let out a spluttering cry in surprise - he had overextended his arm and accidentally tipped his bottle, spilling beer into his sweaty hair. Brandon had looked up just in time to see the incident, and immediately dissolved into helpless, high-pitched gasping giggles. Ronnie joined him in hysterics, although his laughter had been partially triggered by the comical way his friend's eyes had widened in slow motion as he tracked the stream of alcohol in its journey through the air. they both collapsed onto the couch. As they finally regained their composure, Brandon looked back up at Ronnie, only to again fall into a fit of boundless laughter - the beer had started to crawl down the drummer's check and stalled near his nose. Ronnie snorted and pulled the towel from around his neck and swiped it across his face.

"Oh....man...I don't know why that was so funny but I wish Rob had been here to get a picture of you," Brandon gasped, struggling to compose himself. "I wanna put it on the wall in our studio, that was so great!"

Ronnie grimaced, but it quickly turned into a grin. "It's just 'cause we're still high from the show, that's all...man, that was so good though. Gold," he chuckled with a shake of his head.

"Yeah...but now I really can't wait for the album to come out, I wanna see what they think of everything," Brandon mused, heaving himself to his feet to resume collecting his belongings from their places strewn around the dressing room. "We think this record's one of our best, at least..." he let the thought trail off, distracted as he tried to condense the haphazard tangle of clothing, papers and electronics in his suitcase.

"It is, and they'll see that," Ronnie proclaimed, brandishing his bottle in the air. "The songs speak for themselves, they're so nutritious. Sometimes it's a bumpy ride to get there, but we've been through all that before and we can do it again if we need to. But I think this record is gonna win them over, it's impossible not to love it."

He finished the last of his beer in one long draught and tossed it in the bin with a flourish. Ronnie showered while Brandon successfully completed packing his suitcase and called home, asking each of his sons in turn about their day, difficulties with homework and plans with friends. A knock on their door heralded the arrival of Jeremy, their tour manager, who warned that they needed to leave within half an hour to make their flight to Kansas City, and handed Brandon two slips of paper with his and Ronnie's press schedules for the following day.

"Let's go, we'll all need to rest up. It's gonna be a big day tomorrow, the article with Q comes out in the morning."

Brandon nodded, perusing his own schedule, tucking it into his pocket and placing Ronnie's on top of his luggage. "Thanks, Jeremy. We'll be out in a minute."

Several minutes later, Ronnie emerged dressed in a vintage Iron Maiden t-shirt and jeans. He quickly gathered all of his things and threw him into his own suitcase, and they both checked the nooks and crannies to be sure nothing had been left behind. Brandon followed the drummer out of the door, feeling his heart flutter madly in his chest in anxious anticipation of their upcoming flight. New Jersey had been a resounding success; he hoped each new show would be an improvement on the last.


	5. Chapter 5

The soft rustling of Brandon's jeans and quiet tapping of his right foot against the faded airport terminal carpet betrayed his anxiety over the upcoming flight to Kansas City. The band and crew had been split between two different flights, and the weather had taken a bit of a turn for the worse since most of their group had taken off earlier - just a bit of drizzling and a light breeze, not something most people would even blink at.

Brandon Flowers, though, was not most people. He had taken his Xanax before they had left the hotel, as usual, but right now he was sorely tempted to double his dose. He could hear his racing heartbeat in his ears and feel his heart slamming into his ribs, like a doomed deathrow inmate trying to break out of his cell. As their boarding time drew closer and the rain increased from a light sprinkling to a more steady dousing, he began struggling to keep his breathing under control. _Deep breaths, deep breaths,_ he told himself, trying to slow his rapid, shallow breathing. Brandon swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, bowed his head and rested his forehead in his sweaty, trembling hands, eyes closed, trying desperately to block out the sickening sight of the airplane drenched in rain on the tarmac in front of him. A sinking nausea had settled in his stomach. Multicolored circles and starbursts appeared and began to multiply in the blackness through his closed eyelids, the first sign that he was fighting a losing battle trying to control his hyperventilation.

"...ndon? Brandon? _Brandon._" A sudden gentle pressure on his shoulder startled Brandon and he flinched in his seat, opening his eyes and jerking his head out of his hands, looking in the direction of the pressure. Ronnie, sitting next to him with his wife Olivia on his other side, had removed his headphones and placed his hand on Brandon's shoulder, looking down at him with his eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Hey, did I ever tell you the story of how I lost my little brother?"

Brandon's growing panic was stifled by confusion. "Huh? Uh...um...no, I...I don't think so," Brandon stammered, thrown for a loop by this sudden diversion from the dark and anxious road his mind had been hurtling towards.

"Oh, it's a good one!" Ronnie said with a grin. "See, I was 12 and my parents thought I was responsible enough to babysit my brother. So they went out for the night and left him with me, but I didn't wanna watch him, I wanted to play drums - " Brandon smiled at this very Ronnie Vannucci statement, " - so I set him up in the living room with a movie and a box of Oreos and went to drum in my room in peace. I came out an hour later to check on him and he wasn't anywhere, I couldn't find him anywhere in the house! I was fucking freaking out, mom and dad were gonna kill me! I ran through the house looking everywhere, couldn't find him, checked the yard and his bike was gone..._fuck_, where could he have gone? I grabbed my bike and went running around asking everyone I saw if they'd seen my brother, started checking places he might've gone...it took me a whole hour but eventually I found him at fuckin' Chuck-E-Cheese of all places, turns out he'd decided to take his birthday money and play some games and see if he couldn't win himself some new toys!" Ronnie finished with a snort, shaking his head.

Brandon's eyes had been glued to Ronnie's through the entire story. His breathing had slowly steadied and returned to normal by the end. "Uh-huh. Did your parents ever find out you lost him?"

Ronnie laughed. "Worse, they got home before we did and then they were the ones freaking out, thought maybe we got kidnapped or something, they'd called the cops and everything by the time we came back home. Mom grounded me for two months and my brother got one."

Brandon let out a breathy chuckle and smiled shakily at Ronnie. "If you ask me the punishments should've been switched." He paused for a second and his eyes dropped from Ronnie's face for the first time, studying his shoes for a moment with a deep sigh. "Thanks, Ron."

Ronnie grinned and draped his arm easily around Brandon's shoulders. "Anytime, B." They sat like that for several minutes, Ronnie returning to his music and Brandon pulling a worn and dog-eared copy of East of Eden from his backpack, his pulse slowly returning to a more normal pace. When the call for boarding sounded over the airport intercom, Ronnie felt Brandon tense beneath his arm and squeezed his shoulder firmly. "I _promise_ I won't let them crash this plane, Brando," he whispered with a wink, but his eyes were serious.

Brandon didn't reply, only smiled thinly and took a deep breath, putting his book away and standing on shaking legs, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders and clutching the handle of his luggage. They moved through the boarding line and made their way to their seats - Olivia had the window seat, Ronnie sat in the middle, and Brandon stowed his luggage and sat stiffly in his aisle seat, buckling his seatbelt only after several attempts with shaky fingers. Takeoff and landing were always the worst for him - not only were they objectively the most dangerous parts of a flight, but his options for entertainment to distract himself were limited until they were allowed to use larger electronic devices in the air. He plugged his headphones into his phone and tried to immerse himself in an episode of The Waltons, studiously ignoring the flight attendant's safety demonstration - he knew it all by heart and it only served to make him even more nervous.

The plane's engine roared and it lifted off the ground in a steep ascent, sending Brandon's stomach crashing down to his feet. He closed his eyes briefly and turned the volume on his show up louder, crossed his arms tightly across his chest and determinedly stared at the characters on the tiny screen. Ronnie, holding Olivia's hand with his right hand, glanced sideways at Brandon and laid his left arm across his friend's shoulders again.

The flight was a long one, just over six hours from New Jersey to Missouri. As soon as he could, Brandon retrieved his laptop from the backpack tucked under the seat in front of him - the larger screen held his attention easier than the tiny screen of his phone. About a quarter through the flight, the intercom crackled to life as the pilot asked everyone to stay in their seats and fasten their seatbelts for upcoming turbulence, and Brandon stopped breathing for a moment. His eyes were drawn to the open window next to Olivia, splattered with rain drops, the star-strewn darkness of the night sky beyond. His show continued playing on his laptop, forgotten, and he swallowed hard, his heart hammering, closed his eyes, and silently, fervently prayed that their plane wouldn't crash, then began to repeat the prayer for good measure. He was interrupted by a sudden violent shaking of the plane. He could hear the luggage rattling in the compartments above their heads and watched a passenger's soda slosh violently over the side of its plastic cup in the row ahead of his. Brandon's breath caught in his chest and there was a sudden, insistent ringing in his ears. A squirming, queasy feeling grew in his stomach.

He felt Ronnie's arm tighten around his shoulders and leaned into it heavily, grateful for the pressure, but the plane's shaking increased a moment later. The cup in the row in front of them tipped over entirely, and the disgusted cry of the passenger as the sugary drink spilled into her lap sounded like a scream to his sensitive ears. He flinched hard and drew his arms into his chest, elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands. His whole body was shaking with the plane now, and he fought to slow his breathing, counting in his head and trying to force himself back into control. Beside him, Ronnie and Olivia exchanged glances, worried. Ronnie had seen reactions like this hundreds of times over the nearly two decades they had been flying together, but it was still jarring and upsetting to watch, every time. Over the next minute, the turbulence lessened, but it felt like twenty minutes to the little group in row E. Finally, the seatbelt lights flickered out with a soft ding, and the pilot announced calmly over the speakers that they had passed through the turbulence successfully.

For a while longer, Brandon remained stiffly curled in on himself as if frozen, then he slowly relaxed and unfolded with a great, shaky sigh. He rubbed his hand vigorously over his ghostly white face, which suddenly looked ten years older to Ronnie, lines that normally weren't noticeable standing out in sharp relief. Brandon sighed again, then reached for his laptop on the tray in front of him and rewound his show with trembling fingers that contrasted deeply with the black plastic of the laptop; his skin seemed markedly paler than usual. Ronnie squeezed Brandon's shoulder firmly again just to remind his friend that he was there, and was rewarded with a genuine, but very strained smile, before Brandon returned to using The Waltons as a wholesome distraction. Ronnie could feel the tension still coiled like an angry snake in his friend's shoulders, and gently began to massage the one beneath his hand. Nearly fifteen minutes later, Brandon had finally returned to his usual baseline level of nervousness, and Ronnie relaxed and leaned his head against Olivia's shoulder - she had already drifted off to sleep again, and soon Ronnie joined her.

On such a long flight, most people slept, but Brandon could no longer imagine sleeping on such a horrific mode of transportation - even on the insanely long and miserable flights to Asia or Australia, he remained wide awake the entire time, too nervous and jumpy to ever relax enough to sleep. The last time he had allowed himself to sleep on a plane, on a desperately long and torturous flight in 2004, he had woken up to a dead woman beside him and widespread panic in the plane. A violent shudder passed through him at the thought, and he stubbornly shoved the memory to the back of his mind and refocused on his pioneering friends on his laptop screen.

The rest of the flight passed smoothly and without further incident, and as soon as they landed Brandon shot to his feet, backpack stuffed and ready to leave. Ronnie and Olivia moved slowly beside him, still drowsy from their long naps. The second Brandon's feet touched the solid ground of the airport terminal, he heaved a deep sigh of relief, rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, the tension visibly melting off of him.

"Alright?" Ronnie asked with a soft smile, and Brandon returned it with one of his own, finally relaxed once more. The trio waited until the rest of their group joined them, then they all trooped through the airport to baggage claim. An hour later, all belongings firmly in hand, they exited into the early dawn light, piled into their tour bus and then finally dispersed into their own rooms at their hotel.

Brandon closed his door behind him, sighing softly. He was so tired. He barely managed to remove his shoes and send Tana a quick text that they had landed safely before he fell heavily onto the bed, fully clothed. He was asleep in minutes.


	6. Chapter 6

Looking out the tour bus window at the sights of downtown Kansas City through the grimy water spots on the glass as they made their way to the night's venue, Brandon felt a sudden rush of intense homesickness - not for Utah, where he had been living with his family for the past two years, but Las Vegas. Beautiful, beautiful Las Vegas. He knew there was no point dwelling on it, he would never live there again and he would choose his wife's health and happiness a million times over the city of lights, but still...it still felt like he had left his home behind in the Nevada desert, sometimes. Utah was absolutely beautiful in its own right, though, and at least the city they had chosen was much larger than the tiny town he'd been forced to move to by his parents as a child. Besides, Ronnie and his wife had a home just twenty minutes away that they lived in sometimes, so they were neighbors when they were home...for part of the year at least.

He sighed quietly, drumming his fingers on the side of the bus beneath the window, and leaned his forehead against the glass, enjoying the cool feeling on his skin. He hadn't slept well at all last night. After finally making it to his hotel room past dawn, what rest he did get had been disturbed by fragmented nightmares involving airplanes. It usually happened after a rough flight, but now he was starting to feel the effects of his emotionally taxing evening and poor quality sleep. A headache pounded dully behind his eyes, which burned and felt heavy; he had to fight to keep them open. It was only noon and he'd already bumbled his way through a phone interview before even getting the chance for breakfast. He had two more interviews - one with Ronnie, thankfully - soundcheck, and a gig to get through in the next twelve hours.

The interview he had done for Q had been published in the night while they had been on their hellish flight, and when Brandon had finally awoke late that morning, he had spent nearly an hour in bed on his laptop, trawling the internet for fans' first reactions. He and Ronnie had dropped hints about the potential lack of Mark and Dave throughout the process of making the record, but that had been the fans' first confirmation that Dave had not worked on the album at all, that Mark's role had been limited, and that the album was now finished and those circumstances would not be changing. As he'd expected, the fans were very passionately divided about the album, but the reactions he'd seen to a few widely-circulated poor quality clips of the new songs they had debuted had been positive, just like the live audience.

"Brandon. Brandon...Brandon!" He jumped and raised his head off the window, blinking blearily to see who had called his name. Jeremy. He sighed, grabbed his backpack and scrambled out of the car, then stood by the door as the group collected all of their equipment and luggage. He silently followed his tour manager through the venue's anonymous back corridors to his and Ronnie's dressing room. A few crew members came and dropped off various trunks of luggage, and then finally he was alone. Brandon pulled his crumpled press schedule out of the back pocket of his faded jeans. Phone interview with some blog at 10 am...check. He had a joint interview with Ronnie for Magnet Magazine in less than thirty minutes, then an interview alone with Rollingstone in person, then soundcheck, and then finally two hours of downtime and preparation before showtime. He sat down at the vanity and ran his hands through his hair, grimacing at his reflection. Dark circles under his eyes and stubborn, slightly-too-long hair sticking out every which way. Not his best look today. He splashed cold water on his face at the sink, then fished a comb and a can of hairspray from his bag and went to battle.

As he was putting the hairspray away, Ronnie came bursting through the door, a bit wild-eyed - kind of the opposite of how he felt himself, Brandon mused, admiring his friend's energy. "Sorry - I forgot about the interview - sorry, I'm sorry," Ronnie gasped, leaning on the door frame. He looked around and paused. "Oh, wait, I'm not even late?"

Brandon smiled and held up his phone, wiggling it to draw attention to the time shown. "Nah, still ten minutes early, we don't even have an interviewer yet. You're good, man," he added, stifling a yawn.

Ronnie sighed in relief, breathing hard - he had clearly run to their dressing room. "Oh, good...hey, how are you feeling, Bran?" He asked, making his way to the old, battered sofa against the concrete wall - a very homey place, this dressing room. "Because I feel like I haven't slept in days," he added as he collapsed onto the sofa and it gave a gasp of discomfort at his weight.

"Kinda the same," Brandon admitted. "I'm not even excited about the fucking gig, I just wanna be done so I can go to sleep. We have two days off tomorrow, at least. That'll be good."

"Oh, man, will it ever," Ronnie agreed, tipping his head back over the top of the couch to stare at the ceiling. "You know...I know I keep saying I miss these little venues, but I sure don't miss the dinky dressing rooms."

"At least it's not a closet," Brandon shrugged, settling down on the sofa next to Ronnie.

"Ohh, true, remember - " The dressing room door creaked open and they both sat up a little straighter as a bespectacled man in a grey button-up shirt and black jeans entered.

"Hello, Brandon, Ronnie, I'm John King with Magnet..." The interview passed in a blur, with Brandon deferring to Ronnie on many of the questions, finding it more difficult to string together coherent setences as the interview wore on. Finally they thanked him and said their goodbyes, and Brandon slumped back into the sofa as soon as the door closed behind the reporter. He heard Ronnie cross the room and open the mini fridge in the corner, then felt something hard, cold and wet thump against his thigh and opened his eyes.

"Ah, bless you, Ronnie, thank you," he sighed, cracking open the can of Redbull and downing half in one long draught. Ronnie just laughed and shook his head, opening his own as he stood by the fridge.

"You wanna go get some food? They've got a buffet set up on the other side of the venue, on the crew side."

"Yes," Brandon groaned, finishing his Redbull and tossing it halfheartedly in the direction of the trash can - it missed and clattered to the floor. "Maybe..." He yawned, then rubbed his face. "Maybe that's my problem."

Closest to the door, Ronnie held it open and followed Brandon out, then led the way to the buffet, set up in a larger room about five minutes' walk from their dressing room near the stage entrance. They both piled their plates with offerings and sat at a rickety table with mismatched plastic chairs - only Erica, one of their background singers, shared the buffet room with them, and she sat at another table with her headphones on as she finished her lunch, oblivious.

Brandon had barely eaten a quarter of his food when a harried-looking Jeremy stuck his head around the doorframe and sighed in relief. "Brandon, what are you doing? You're supposed to be doing an interview, the guy from Rollingstone is waiting for you!"

Brandon dropped his fork in mid-bite, pushing his chair back aggressively and jumping up. He tripped over his feet in his haste. "Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, fuck! Fuck. I can't do my fucking job today, Ron, you should just fucking fire me," he called over his shoulder as he sprinted out of the room and down the hall.

"Brandon, the other way!" Jeremy yelled after him, and Ronnie heard the fading footsteps skid to a halt and then grow louder as he ran back towards them and away again, towards their dressing room. The drummer shook his head with a laugh, regarding his friend's barely-touched plate with regret.

"Hey, is he...okay?" Jeremy asked quietly, closing the buffet room's door behind him for privacy. "He seems...weird today. Off."

Ronnie shook his head again, more serious this time. "Nah, we had a rough flight last night and then he hardly slept afterwards, and today is just a very busy schedule on very little sleep. And you know Rollingstone already kinda hates us, they'll just use this to paint Brandon like he's got his head up his ass or something. But he'll be good for the show, he always is."

Jeremy nodded, then grabbed tin foil from a crate of supplies under the buffet table and wrapped up Brandon's abandoned plate. "Well, just let me know if either of you needs anything. Maybe you guys should do something fun tomorrow, recharge," he suggested as he replaced the box of foil in the crate.

"Yeah, that's a good idea...thanks," Ronnie added thoughtfully to Jeremy's retreating back.


	7. Chapter 7

Ronnie took one last inventory of his backpack, zipping it up and shouldering it. After the events and stress of the last few days, he'd decided that he and Brandon needed a trip into nature to relax and decompress, and their day off was the perfect time to do so. After a lazy start to their day, they'd had a late brunch at the hotel and Brandon had chosen a nearby scenic mountain range to hike up - a good long day without any other people, no reporters, no stress, no work...exactly what they both needed. Normally they asked if any of the crew or the rest of the band wanted to tag along, but Ronnie and Brandon both felt that they needed a day to themselves.

Ronnie closed his hotel room door and took the elevator down to the lobby, where Brandon waited by the front desk, idling browsing the racks of tourism brochures. At the ding of the elevator door, he looked up and his face lit up in one of his signature grins that reminded Ronnie of bottled sunlight.

"Let's get the fuck out of here, Ron. Taxi's out front." The drive to the mountain range was over an hour from downtown Kansas City, but Ronnie was so excited for the hike that he barely noticed the time. They thanked and paid the driver and bolted out of the taxi and up the trail. It started as a wide path on a gradual slope in a forested area, but about an hour in, it became clear that they were hiking up a mountain as the incline grew steeper and trees and large plants became sparse.

The mountain's solid ground had given way to an unsteady, slippery rocky slope after he and Ronnie had hiked for nearly two hours, and their progress had slowed considerably and they had ceased conversation as they carefully chose their footing on the uncertain ground. A strangled cry and sudden rush of rolling pebbles made Brandon freeze and jerk back, spinning in time to watch his friend land heavily in the dirt about fifteen feet behind him, his left ankle turned at a very unnatural angle. Ronnie's face was tight with pain as he knelt unsteadily, his gaze fixed on his ankle. "Ohhhh my fucking god, owwww," he gasped, leaning heavily on his right leg to keep his weight off of the injured ankle. "Um...B-Brandon - I think it's broken," he gasped, raising watery eyes to meet Brandon's.

"Hang on, I'm coming," Brandon called, making his way across the uneven ground as quickly as he dared. At his side, he bent down so Ronnie could loop his arm across his shoulders and slowly straightened, supporting most of the drummer's weight. "Shit, Ron...um...I think I saw a nice flat rock up here a little ways, you can sit down there and we'll take a look - no, don't try to walk on it, just hop, I've got you. We'll take it slow."

Every small jump sent a jolt through Ronnie's broken ankle, and it took the pair over half an hour to make it to the rock, which was nearly the size of a small mattress and only marginally uneven. They both sank gratefully onto its dusty surface, Ronnie letting out an agonized groan, covered in sweat from the pain and exertion. They both sat dumbstruck staring at his ankle, which was clearly broken now that they had a second to get a good look.

"Oh, shit," Brandon breathed. "I don't know what to do about that, Ronnie...we're way too far in, we can't just turn back. You can't walk on that thing. I'm gonna call Jeremy, see if someone can pick us up maybe," he fished his phone out of his pocket, but his eyes widened in alarm at the "ROAMING - NO SIGNAL" message that blared across his screen when he turned it on. His fingers shaking slightly, he chose Jeremy's name out of his contacts list, put the phone on speaker, and waited. Dead silence was the only answer for several seconds, then a woman's robotic voice announced, "This call cannot be completed at this time. Please try again," and Brandon sighed and closed his eyes briefly in defeat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ronnie groaned, slapping his palm against the rock. They sat in silence for a moment, commiserating with each other, and then suddenly Ronnie started and fumbled around his jacket pocket. "My phone - it must have fallen out when I slipped - maybe it has service though? It's a different carrier than yours, at least."

Brandon jumped to his feet, motivated by having a task, something that might help. "I'll go find it," he said, clapping a hand on Ronnie's shoulder and rubbing it briefly in comfort and farewell. He slowly moved across the rocky ground back toward the scene of the incident, keeping his eyes on his feet and taking extra care on the slippery slope. He soon turned a corner and was out of Ronnie's line of sight, and then out of earshot and he could no longer hear the soft crunching of pebbles beneath his friend's hiking boots.

With nothing left to occupy his thoughts except his newly acquired broken ankle, Ronnie pondered whether it would be wiser to remove his own boot now, before the swelling set in, or to leave it on in hopes of a degree of protection for his injured ankle. After a minute of thought, he conceded that if he didn't take off the boot now, it might never come off. He unlaced the boot, took several deep breaths, and began the painfully slow process of easing the boot off, punctuated every few seconds by yelps and many colorful swear words.

Once the boot was finally off, he sat back with a groan and wiped the sweat from his face, breathing hard. He had no way of telling how much time had passed, but he noticed that the sun was just starting to set. God, he hoped Brandon found his phone, and that it would work so they could get the hell out of there. If they had to spend the night on this godforsaken mountain...alarmed at the prospect, Ronnie sat up suddenly and roughly unzipped his faded red backpack to take stock of his supplies - a black windbreaker, a lighter, a pocket knife, four protein bars, a bag of trail mix, and three bottles of Gatorade in addition to the large metal water bottle he typically used during their hikes. Not much, but then they had only planned to be gone for five or six hours, not overnight. He knew Brandon had his own supplies though, in the backpack he had taken along on his hunt for Ronnie's cell phone - between the two of them they would have enough food to last a several days without too much impact, if needed - they just wouldn't be especially comfortable.

He glanced up at the sky - as the sunset had settled, mottled grey clouds had started to move in as well. It looked like it might rain tonight - just their luck. Ronnie sighed, shifting his weight on the rock impatiently as he surveyed the mountain. Where would they take shelter if it did rain? He couldn't see anything very promising from his vantage point. Hopefully there was a cave or something not too far away - Brandon was strong, but still significantly smaller than he was, and Ronnie felt bad for him, having to support most of his weight for any long distance.

Ronnie's gaze wandered back to the spot where he had watched Brandon disappear earlier...how long ago had he left? It had taken more than half an hour to reach the flat rock he rested on, but Brandon wasn't hobbled by his companion's bum leg anymore. He should have been back by now, at least an hour must have passed. _What if..._spine-chilling visions of his friend's broken body crumpled at the foot of the mountain suddenly filled his head. _No, nope, definitely not, not going there,_ Ronnie thought furiously, pushing the visions away and fighting the sick feeling that arose in the pit of his stomach. _Think of something else, anything else..._

He wondered if the rest of the group had started to worry what had kept them out so long. He wracked his brain, hoping they had at least thought to tell someone where they would be hiking, but he didn't remember giving specifics. The mountain they had chosen was a fairly popular hiking spot, though, and they would hopefully consider it a possibility on their own.

Figuring he ought to at least attempt to do something productive, Ronnie bent down and collected twigs and dead grass from around his stony perch, as far out as he could reach, and stuffing them into an empty pocket in his backpack. Hopefully they would be able to use them to start a fire to keep warm if it did rain in the night.

With a shiver, Ronnie realized he had already accepted that they would be stranded on the mountainside at least overnight. He pulled his bad leg over the edge of the rock and painstakingly lowered it to its cool surface, careful not to jostle his ankle. His foot felt cold and numb, and his ankle was already swollen to more than twice its normal size. Ronnie tugged his windbreaker out of his backpack and settled it gently over his foot and calf, then crossed his arms and hunched over, trying to keep warm against the ever-growing wind. He fixed his gaze on the spot he had last seen Brandon and sighed. He hated feeling so helpless, but there was nothing he could do but wait and hope he would come back as the sky darkened and the wind began to howl across the mountainside.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hey, has anyone heard from Ronnie and Brandon?" Ted poked his head into Jake's hotel room, where he, Jeremy, Rob, and several of the crew were hanging out watching a movie.

"Uh, no, they went on a hike, remember?" Jake asked, looking around at Ted.

"Yeah, just thought they'd be back by now," Ted shrugged. "They left before noon and it's almost time for dinner."

"Brandon's probably just running Ronnie ragged. They had a lot of steam to work off," Rob chipped in. "He'll be complaining to us when they get back tonight, I bet. They brought snacks, they'll be fine."

Ted nodded. "I'll leave you guys to your movie, then," he said with a wave, and ducked out of the room.

\- - - - -

Brandon picked his way carefully across the rocky ground, hoping with every fiber of his being that he would find Ronnie's phone on the mountainside somewhere. He couldn't quite remember where Ronnie had originally fallen, so he watched the ground carefully as he moved, sweeping his eyes back forth across the ground, looking for the telltale glint of plastic and glass. He had been hiking on uneven terrain for hours now and he was starting to feel the strain. His feet felt bruised and his knees were beginning to shake, but he pushed himself to keep up the pace.

Every passing minute, he was painfully aware that he had left his seriously injured friend behind alone, with no way of moving from the rock he rested on. He needed to find the phone as quickly as possible and head back to help Ronnie - clouds were starting to move in. If Ronnie got sick because Brandon had left him alone on a mountainside in the rain...whatever horrible illness he ended up with would be on Brandon's head. Guilt gnawed at his stomach at the thought, making him feel rather nauseous.

It must have been at least forty minutes into his search when he finally spotted the gleam of the dying sunlight reflected off of the fractured glass of a phone screen. With a stifled cry, he scrambled toward it. In Ronnie's fall, the phone had bounced several feet down the mountainside, far out of his reach, but as Brandon examined the ground, he saw a decent path down the steep slope. Quickly, he slung his heavy backpack off his shoulders and nestled it securely against a rock - he would need all the balance he could get here. He inched slowly toward the edge of the cliff, desperately trying to ignore the several hundred foot drop just a stone's throw beyond the phone's resting place.

Very carefully, he placed his feet less than an inch apart as he moved slowly down the mountainside. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Nearly a full ten minutes later, he finally reached the ledge. He stooped to pick up the phone, careful to avoid the shattered glass screen, and pressed the power button. Nothing. He held it down for three, five, ten seconds...nothing. Fuck. The fucking phone was broken. A rush of despair washed over him, overcoming the light of hope that had kindled in his heart at the prospect of calling for a rescue. Hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. *How are we going to get off the fucking mountain now?* He sighed heavily and zipped the phone securely in his jacket pocket anyway. There would be time to dwell on their plight later; he needed to get back to Ronnie before the rain started.

Taking a deep breath, Brandon raised his head to examine the mountain again. He would need to take the same path back up. He grabbed a rock that stuck out a few inches from the dirt as a handhold and took one cautious step up, then a few more. Another - he could almost reach the top of the slope if he stretched for it - suddenly the ground crumbled away beneath his foot and he fell backwards with a startled gasp - seconds later he felt an explosion of pain as his back made impact on the rocky ground and a sharp, sickening crack filled the air. His head slammed into a jagged black stone and he fell into silence and utter blackness.

\- - - - -

As the first raindrops fell, Ronnie decided he was officially worried. He knew he could never make it all the way back to find Brandon, and he would only be a liability in any case, but a growing dread had built a desolate chamber inside his heart as he waited. But he knew he couldn't stay in the rain, either, because all kinds of illnesses could develop and take a turn for the worse quickly. Suddenly the thought occurred to him with a jolt of anxiety that Brandon might also be stranded out in the rain...but he grudgingly accepted that he truly could be of no help to anyone with a freshly broken ankle. Ronnie, however, had sat in the drizzling rain long enough. He removed the windbreaker from its place keeping his ankle warm and slipped it over his shoulders instead, zipping it firmly up to his chin. He swung his backpack over his shoulders and fastened the chest strap for extra stability, and decided he should begin the search for shelter.

He slowly lowered his legs to the ground off the side of the rock and followed with the rest of his body, supporting his weight on his arms and right leg. Once on the ground, he carefully flipped over so that he could crawl, using only his left knee for support and keeping his foot and ankle in the air. It was a painful position and each impact of his knee into the rocky dirt send shivers of pain through his ankle and foot, but enough was enough. He couldn't afford to sit in the rain for hours without even a proper coat. The process was agonizingly slow and painful, but after perhaps twenty minutes - _that's another twenty minutes Brandon's been gone,_ a nervous little voice in his head announced - he spotted an overhang of about two feet, where the ground underneath was protected from the rain and there was a glorious patch of dry, dusty dirt. He forced himself to crawl faster, and finally huddled gratefully against the side of the mountain, pressing his body as close as possible to the dirt. His knees, he noted dully, had taken a vicious beating on his journey, and dried blood streaked his shins in little rivulets and mixed with the mud, disappearing into his socks.

Having solved his own immediate problem, Ronnie rested his head on his battered knee and allowed his thoughts to drift back to whatever circumstances that could possibly have kept his friend away so long. He would have expected the quest for his cell phone to last perhaps half an hour, maybe an hour at the very most...it had now probably been at least an hour and a half, maybe even two. Had Brandon decided to continue down the mountain and find someone to help? Ronnie scrapped that idea quickly; Brandon wouldn't have left him alone longer than he needed to, and certainly not without first coming back to explain his plan...so where was he?


	9. Chapter 9

Brandon's first thought was that it was cold. It seemed like an age later when another thought ambled sluggishly through his mind: _I need to move...I need to...go...where?_ A sharp pain surged and then subsided in his chest with every shallow gasp of breath and an insistent, high-pitched ringing filled his ears. He felt icy water on his skin, falling in steady drops. _Oh. It's wet._ He opened his eyes, then blinked rapidly to drive the rain that had collected on his eyelashes away. Several seconds later, he found himself blinking up at the twilight sky, indigo blue darkening to purple with angry, heavy clouds covering up most of the stars and nearly hiding the full moon.

_ I need to move,_ the phrase echoed through his skull again, more like an invasive message from elsewhere than a conscious thought. Experimentally, he wiggled his fingers. _Okay._ He wiggled his feet. _Okay._ He tried to move his whole arm and was rewarded with a horrible, fiery rush of pain radiating from his back and through his shoulder - _fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, not okay._ Maybe the other - alright, his right arm at least was okay. He tried to bend first his right leg, then the left. No problems there, that was good...just regular soreness, nothing as horrible as - he tried to lift his head and cried out as white hot agony exploded behind his eyes, bright stars suddenly appearing everywhere...nothing as horrible as _that. Fuuuuuuuck._ Warm tears trickled down his cheeks, and he choked back a sob. He was fucked.

He rested his head back on the rock, eyes closed, allowing the freezing rain to wash the tears from his face and the mud from his body. Some unknown amount of time passed before, again, like an angry fly, that thought came back - _I need to move._

_But I can't,_ he retorted. More silence, more stillness, then again -_ I need to move...I need to help...him?_ Brandon's eyebrows furrowed in confusion - even this tiny movement caused a fresh spasm of pain to course through his skull. Who needed his help? He wouldn't be much help to anyone. He just wanted to lay here - it didn't hurt as much if he didn't move. And he was so tired - he could just sleep here, it wasn't so bad.

_NO. I NEED TO MOVE._ A vision of his beloved wife and three perfect little boys suddenly overtook the impenetrable blackness inside his mind, and something tugged at him, calling for him to get up. Brandon took as deep a breath as he dared, braced himself against the slippery, muddy earth with his good arm and quickly flipped himself over, now laying on his stomach - the discomfort in his chest increased drastically at the pressure and a sudden rush of nausea overcame him. He turned his head hastily to vomit into the mud. The twist of his neck triggered such agony that his vision faded to a heavy, inky blackness as he continued to cough and dry heave. Brandon moaned and laid his cheek in the mud, exhausted. His vision slowly returned, first a kind of dark gray black and white, and then finally the colors crept back. He noticed for the first time that everything seemed blurry and grainy.

The last thing he remembered was hiking with Ronnie..._Ronnie,_ his best friend who he had left stranded, alone, out exposed to the rain with a broken ankle. He needed to get back to him. _I need to move._ Brandon pushed himself up with his right arm, gasping at the stabbing pain in his shoulder and chest, and sat back on his heels. The mountainside loomed above him, and he frowned up at it...how would he ever get back up there?

Brandon sat for a long while staring blankly at the slope, so steep it was nearly vertical, in the fading light from the last remnants of the sunset. He had fallen down this slope when it was dry, before the downpour had turned the dirt into viscous, slippery mud...and before he'd had any sort of injury. The rain had actually washed a lot of the dirt away, and he noticed with a tiny flare of hope that it resembled a cliff now, more than the crumbling, almost impenetrable wall of dirt it had been. Dozens of protruding rocks had been exposed by the rain, many only about the size of a golf ball, but...still, they would give him some purchase on the mountainside, something solid to grab onto and stand on.

Brandon sat motionless for many minutes, attempting to gather his strength and allowing the searing pains in his body to begin fading. His eyes raked over every inch of the slope repeatedly, choosing the places he would use to climb - his vision was still strangely blurred, and he knew he absolutely couldn't afford to mess this up. A constant tinny whine filled his ears and he felt oddly off-balance even while sitting, as though the ground might fall away beneath him at any time. He tested his arms; the pain in his left shoulder was tolerable until he tried to raise his arm above chest level and was met with a crashing wave of agony. He would have to rely on one arm and the strength of his legs, then.

Brandon pushed against the muddy ground with his right arm, slowly rising to his feet. Just as he began to straighten from a crouch, he lost his balance and stumbled sideways toward the cliff edge and the massive drop to the forest floor that lay beyond - uncontrollable, clumsy, tottering steps sent him careening to the edge of nothingness as he fought to regain his footing - _no no nonono_ \- his breath caught in his chest and a surge of panic and vertigo overcame him as the abyss lurched nearer.

Brandon grabbed wildly at the air with both hands - _please please no_ \- desperate for something to restore his equilibrium. His injured arm slammed against the rock face at his side, and he yelped at the impact but deliberately leaned his body hard into the wall to halt his momentum and collapsed to his knees.

Shock reverberated through his whole being as he leaned backwards away from the precipice and stared down at the shadowy trees below, so small he could never begin to count them. Brandon couldn't tear his eyes away from what had almost been his certain doom - his heart felt like a hummingbird's frantic wings inside his chest, and his rapid, floundering pulse echoed loudly in his head. He had come _so close_...suddenly he was consumed by a relief so strong that he couldn't hold it back anymore. Brandon buried his face in his hands and wept.

The edge of the cliff loomed ominously mere inches from his knees as he sat gasping for air, leaning heavily against the mountainside. Carefully, he shuffled backwards on stinging knees, determined to put as much distance between the abyss and himself as possible, until he had backed up against the smaller mountainside he had intended to climb. Not trusting his legs, he decided to rest for a while longer. The moon rose in the sky and began its nightly journey, and still he sat, trying to calm the jittery beating of his heart.

Finally, he stood again, this time keeping a steadying hand against the side of the mountain, and stared at the rocky cliff for a minute. He traced his intended path upwards once more - go. He stepped with both feet onto an especially solid-looking rock that stuck out about a foot above the ledge he stood on, then clutched a rock that sat near his hip for support before he moved his left leg to a higher rock...left...right...grab...left...about halfway up the cliffside his knees began to shake violently, a wave of dizziness and nausea surged through his body, and he knew his time was almost up.

As fast as he could, Brandon moved from rock to rock farther up the wall, using his hands more for balance than strength, and suddenly he could see the muddy ground again. Two more rocks gave him enough height to press his chest against the ground. Something seemed to give way inside his chest with a terrible pop as his ribs were crushed into the stone; a fresh burst of agony would have provoked a scream if he'd had the air in his lungs and his felt his body begin to pitch backwards into emptiness, instinctively flinching away from the source of the pain - but with a great effort, Brandon heaved his body over the edge and rolled onto the sodden ground. When his back made contact with the rocky ground, he whimpered and bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood as waves of pain radiated from his spine through his left arm.

The sudden change in orientation and pressure from the earth on his skull brought another crushing flood of dizziness and nausea. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks as he gagged and choked into the viscous mud - nothing remained in his stomach to bring up and eventually the surge of nausea subsided. Breathless, he gasped for air through the harsh, stabbing pain each shallow breath brought, coursing through his chest.

Brandon found himself on his back once again, motionless, staring wearily up at the night sky with its blanket of heavy grey clouds releasing a torrent of icy tears endlessly onto the earth below. He wasn't sure when it had begun - maybe it had been happening all along - but he suddenly became aware that he was shivering, his whole body trembling from the cold. He laid there on the edge of the cliff for an eternity, eyes closed, letting the frigid rain fall over his body in silence and mix with the salty tears on his face.

Night had fully fallen and the rain had finally stopped by the time he was roused once more by a nagging, persistent thought: _Ronnie. I have to move._ Brandon rolled slowly onto his stomach and forced his tortured shoulders to move, propping his body up briefly on his elbows and rising to a shaky, wavering kneel in the mud. He saw now that he was once again perilously close to the cliff edge, and swallowed another swell of nausea at the sight of the vast carpet of tiny black trees far below in the night.

Commanding himself to ignore the great swathe of nothingness just inches from his knees, Brandon scrambled to his feet with a mighty heave and staggered drunkenly toward his backpack, sitting peacefully against the cliff face just as he had left it hours before. He felt as though he were trying to walk on a ship, sailing through rough seas - it felt as if the ground was alternately pitching upwards and crumbling away beneath his feet. He braced himself against the stone for a long minute with a shaking hand before bending and unzipping a side pocket in his backpack to retrieve a heavy silver flashlight. He switched it on and then off immediately; the light was painfully bright to his eyes, but the night was nearly pitch black and light was a necessity. He carefully removed his jacket, gasping as the material snagged on something sharp on his back near his left shoulder, and draped the jacket over the bulb of the flashlight and flicked it back on. The light shone through the thin material, muted drastically but still helpful and thankfully, no longer painful.

Brandon knew his ruined shoulders would never bear the weight of his backpack for a minute, never mind however long it took him to eventually find Ronnie. He bent down and sorted through the pockets, pulling out several protein bars and a water bottle and wrapping them inside his jacket as well. Tying the sleeves together to create a secure bundle, Brandon left the backpack sitting forlornly against the cliffside.

Finally, the worst was behind him. He only had to finish the trek back to the place he had left Ronnie, and they could find somewhere to take shelter for the night. One faltering, weaving step after another, Brandon pushed his tired body to keep moving forward across the craggy terrace - it was not time to rest yet.


	10. Chapter 10

A significant portion of the fifth floor of the Fontaine in Kansas City was dedicated to The Killers' band and crew - many doors hung wide open and tension hung heavy in the hallways as stars multiplied in the night sky outside the hotel windows. A group of around thirty men and women had crowded into one massive huddle in the hotel hallway. Raised voices echoed through the halls, many people arguing and speaking over each other.

" - not normal! We should call the cops, get them to start looking!"

"They've both been hiking hundreds of times before, and it's not like they can't take care of themselves!"

"It's only been a couple hours longer than we expected, maybe they just unexpectedly took a longer hike."

"I don't like it at all, they would have called if they knew they would be out longer!"

"Exactly, and they will call if anything goes wrong - "

_ "EVERYONE SHUT UP!"_

Silence fell abruptly as the group turned as one to look at the slim blonde woman who had raised her voice over all of theirs. "Just...shut up. It's _my_ husband out there and this is my call. Shut up, call the cops or the park rangers or something, cancel the flights for tomorrow and the next show - and, well, someone should start thinking about calling Brandon's family, too, before any of that stuff - his wife needs to know."

Three short dial tones broke the silence before Jeremy held his phone to his ear, nodding to Olivia. "Yeah, hi, I need to report a couple of hikers missing..."

Twenty minutes later, the group huddled in the hallways in small groups or sat along the walls, whispering anxiously. Olivia turned the corner, nervously smoothing the hemline of her blouse as she spoke to the police officer next to her in hushed tones.

" - called them at least a dozen times each, both of their phones are just going straight to voicemail, not even ringing."

"And they didn't tell anyone where they were going, specifically?" The officer asked, writing hastily on his notepad as he walked.

"No, just the mountains, but it won't have been too far from here. We had a flight to Colorado in the morning, they normally plan to be back before sunset if we need to leave in the morning."

"Hmm. How did they get there?"

"A taxi, but - "

"Excellent, do any of you know which cab company they would have been likely to use? We can at least narrow it down to a specific group of mountains with the drop-off info from their cabbie and contact their cell carriers for their last known locations - we've got a lot of mountains around here and they can all be dangerous."

\- - - - -

Brandon stumbled on a loose stone in the darkness, lost his balance and fell to his knees for perhaps the twentieth time in as many minutes, his dimmed flashlight and bundle of food wrapped in his jacket sliding from his knees into the mud. He hung his head miserably, moaning. His knees and shins were covered in dozens of bloody scrapes and scratches, some with dirt or tiny pebbles embedded into his skin. Traversing such uneven ground had been a challenge before his fall, but it was positively excruciating now. A thunderous pounding echoed in his head and he felt light-headed and dizzy, constantly short of breath. He was having trouble gauging where to place his feet - the ground seemed to race up to meet his steps before he was ready, or to fall away beneath his feet.

Collecting his things and forcing himself to his wobbly feet once more, Brandon pressed on, weaving diagonally across the muddy mountainside - first drifting to the right near the edge of the cliff, then to the left, bumping up against the towering cliff wall, apparently unaware that he wasn't traveling in a straight line.

Trying to distract himself from the tedium of his seemingly endless, tortuous journey, he found himself dreaming of home. He knew Tana had taken their boys to the zoo that week, and his heart ached to think that he hadn't been there. It had been fun to hear them gush about it over the phone, each rushing to be the first to tell him their stories in their excitement - _but dad, I got to touch its tongue, it was so slimy - oh, dad, did you know giraffes sleep less than two hours a day?_

But he hadn't been able to watch Henry feed a tortoise for the first time, or make them laugh with his infinite supply of dumb jokes - his own personal favorite involved a tortoise and a mob of snails. Brandon hadn't seen the delight on Tana's face as she reached out to touch a rhino, or -

His foot slipped in the mud as he stepped forward and he fell backwards heavily, sitting unexpectedly in the mud for the hundredth time that night. Brandon groaned and buried his face in his hands for a long minute, concentrating on his shallow, shaky breathing as he struggled to regain his composure. He had to keep going - but God, he was so _tired_. He raised his head slowly and stared vacantly ahead, trying to muster up enough strength to get back up.

Finally, Brandon cradled his makeshift jacket bag in the elbow of his injured arm and pushed himself to his knees with his good arm, rising on trembling legs. He staggered forward, relentlessly punishing his weary body. He had to find Ronnie.

An age later, Brandon suddenly realized that he recognized the wide, flat rock up ahead and forced himself to move faster, heedless of how many times he tripped over the rocky ground in the faint glow from his muzzled flashlight.

"Ronnie!" Brandon called as he approached, barely able to raise his voice over a whisper - it felt like weeks since he had spoken, although he knew it hadn't even been a full day. He coughed, trying to clear his throat, then looked up again, eyes watering.

With a horrible, sinking chill, he realized abruptly that the rock was empty. Ronnie was nowhere to be seen. Already short of oxygen from his damaged chest, Brandon could feel his shallow breaths coming faster and faster, his heart thundering in his ears. Frantic, Brandon looked around the empty mountainside, anxiety tightening his chest painfully.

"Ronnie? _Ronnie?"_


	11. Chapter 11

Ronnie was shaken from his fitful sleep by a man's voice calling weakly in the distance. He lay there for a moment, not quite realizing what was happening, and then suddenly his eyes snapped open and hope blazed to life in his chest. _Was that...?_ He tried to scramble to his feet and was reminded of his broken ankle with a wave of agony through his previously numb leg, crying out as he sank once more to the ground. Ronnie leaned forward and squinted through the darkness, desperate to see him - were his ears just playing tricks on him in the starlit silence?

He caught sight of the dim, diffused glow of light and a familiar slight figure hunched in the distance near the flat rock he had spent hours resting on the previous day, looking around the mountain anxiously. "Ron?...Ronnie?" The voice called faintly again, a lot hoarser than Ronnie was used to, but unquestionably his, and he'd never heard anything more achingly beautiful. Relief and joy exploded in his heart at the sound of the voice he'd heard every day for nearly half his life.

"Brandon!" He tried to call, but his voice came out strangled and too quiet from disuse. He coughed and cleared his throat and tried again. "Brandon! Brandon! Over here! I'm here!"

Brandon didn't appear to hear him - he was looking around wildly now, clearly agitated. "Ronnie...Ronnie?"

Taking a deep breath, Ronnie screamed at the top of his lungs: "BRANDON!!!" The little figure by the rock jumped and looked in his direction. He took a couple of hesitant steps forward and Ronnie noted with alarm that his gait was...laborious, stilted and off-balance, almost like a newborn fawn. "BRANDON! I'm here!" He yelled again, and this time he had definitely been heard.

Brandon headed toward his resting place in earnest, bringing his light with him and Ronnie's heart sank a little as he watched him draw closer. He was moving so strangely, as if he were walking through water, and every few steps he stumbled or fell to his knees completely and had to struggle back to his feet. He looked like hell. He was covered in mud from head to toe, and dried blood splattered the front of his shirt around the neck and shoulders. His face was a mess of fresh bruises, covering his cheeks and, oddly, underneath his eyes, but relief and happiness were written incongruously across his battered features.

"You...o - okay?" Brandon asked softly as he came to a swaying halt in front of Ronnie, seeming to have difficulty finding even those simple words, his brow furrowed in frustration in the long pause between words.

"Fucking _hell,_ Brandon. You show up after hours off God-knows-where, you look like death warmed over and you have the balls to ask _me_ if _I'm_ okay? Where have you been? What took you so long? What _happened?"_

Brandon opened his mouth to reply, but stood silently for several seconds and finally just dropped the jacket he had been carrying to the ground and collapsed against the cliff face with a wispy sigh. The flashlight he had been carrying rolled out of the jacket, its beam unencumbered. Brandon flinched and turned his face away from the light, and Ronnie reached out and draped the jacket over the light, dimming it once again. He felt something hard inside the jacket and felt around inside it, careful to keep the light covered.

He retrieved half a dozen protein bars and Brandon's water bottle and piled them neatly near his own backpack, then felt the jacket again - there. He fumbled for the last item, unzipping the chest pocket and reaching inside to find - "My phone! You found it!"

Brandon just stared listlessly at him, his normally bright hazel eyes dull and lifeless. He watched as Ronnie pressed the power button repeatedly. He stared at the black, broken screen with fading hope and then sighed, tossing it into his backpack carelessly.

"Well...mind if I look at you? You're hurt." A tiny shrug was Brandon's only response for a long moment, before he slowly shuffled around, showing his back to Ronnie, who couldn't supress a gasp of horror at the sight. Dried blood dripped from the back of Brandon's head and down his neck, there were dark bruises behind his ears and a massive bloodstain covered most of his previously grey t-shirt. Something sharp, white and bloody protruded through a tear in the fabric near his left shoulder, and Ronnie realized with a shiver that it was bone.

"Fucking..._Jesus,_ Brandon, you went through all that for a broken phone? We don't - we don't even have a first aid kit, I can't - " He stopped suddenly, noticing that Brandon was shrinking away from him as he raised his voice.

"Oh God, Bran, I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you, I _swear_ I'm not mad, I'm so sorry..." Ronnie softened his voice, speaking barely above a whisper. He tried to reach out and touch Brandon's shoulder in comfort, but he shuddered and flinched away, and Ronnie's heart cracked. "I'm sorry, I just...I was so worried, B. It's been hours. What _happened_ to you?"

A pause stretched between them, long enough for Ronnie to begin to wonder if Brandon intended to answer at all, but then he spoke quietly.

"Um...I....I...dropped...?" He seemed to know that wasn't the right word and huffed, frustrated, motioning downward with his hand, back still to Ronnie.

"You fell? Off the fucking _cliff?"_

Brandon nodded, and Ronnie thought he might forget how to breathe. _God, no wonder he's so fucked up...its a miracle he's not dead._ Ronnie reached out toward his head, gently parting his hair, sticky with blood. Feeling the touch, Brandon shied away from him again. Ronnie's heart cracked a little more, and his voice broke with it as he pleaded with him.

_"Please,_ Bran? Let me see. I _promise_ I won't hurt you."

Brandon hesitated, and then slowly leaned back toward Ronnie. Ronnie reached up and parted his bloody hair again, careful not to touch his skin. A long and angry diagonal gash split Brandon's scalp. He had known just by the way his friend was acting that he'd had some kind of serious head injury: difficulty walking, trouble speaking, sensitivity to light, loss of balance...probably a concussion.

"God, Brandon, I'm sorry, I never should have let you leave, I'm so fu- "

He cut off as Brandon twisted awkwardly, trying to look at him. He shook his head vigorously, the most movement Ronnie had yet seen. "My...I...it - it was me," he stammered, making eye contact with his friend for the first time. "Never you."

Ronnie couldn't speak through the sudden tightness in his throat and he just sighed and grabbed Brandon's hand instead, squeezing it tightly. A moment later, his own hand was squeezed in response. They sat together in the darkness for a while before Brandon broke the silence. "I'm tired, Ron."

"Oh - of course - but..." He rubbed his free hand over his face with a sigh, trying to remember what one was supposed to do for serious injuries like this. "I don't think it's safe for you to sleep though, Bran...not with something like this, your head is pretty banged up."

This was met with silence for another minute, then: "Oh...Okay."

Ronnie busied himself packing the protein bars Brandon had brought into his backpack - he considered asking Brandon what had happened to his own bag, but dismissed it immediately - far too complicated of a question for his friend's present state of mind. He moved the flashlight from inside Brandon's jacket into his own windbreaker, creating a little bubble of very dim, greyish light, and folded up Brandon's jacket into a makeshift pillow.

"Here - turn a little so your back is facing the cliff, we're gonna use this as a cushion for your head."

Obediently, Brandon adjusted his body and Ronnie held the jacket pillow against the cliff face - "Go ahead and lean back, that doesn't hurt, does it?" He asked anxiously, mindful of the jagged bone sticking out of his friend's back. He took the little shrug he got in response as a 'no.'

Tasks completed, he pulled two protein bars out of his backpack and settled against the cliff next to Brandon, holding one out to him in silent offer. Brandon shook his head, waving his hand slightly - rejected. "Are you sure? You should probably eat something, it's been ages, I'm sure. Maybe water?"

Brandon studiously ignored him, instead asking haltingly, "I...can...can I...sleep?"

"No." Ronnie ate his own bar in silence, discreetly watching him out of the corner of his eye. They sat in nearly identical positions; Brandon had both knees pulled up into his chest and Ronnie did the same with his good leg, his broken ankle stretched out in front of him. Brandon kept nodding his head forward onto his chest, nearly dozing off - Ronnie poked him gently and was rewarded with a dull glare.

A while later, again, Brandon's soft voice broke the silence: "I'm tired, Ron."

Ronnie sighed. "I know, B. But you can't sleep right now, you just cracked your head open."

"...oh...I...did?"

That was new. Ronnie turned to look at him. "You don't remember falling?"

Brandon simply looked back at him in silence, bemused. Ronnie shrugged, helpless, and rested his head against the wall.

"I'm tired."

"No. You can't sleep right now."

"I'm tired."

"No."

Ronnie had no idea how much time had passed like this, the same conversation repeated over and over, but Brandon's voice grew more unsteady and slurred as the night wore on, and Ronnie continued nudging him awake.

The first pink and orange rays of dawn were just peeking through the remains of the rain clouds when Brandon once again spoke, his voice just the barest, weary whisper, begging him: "Please...'m tired."

"No, Brandon."

"Please." The tears suddenly choking his soft voice broke Ronnie's heart into a hundred pieces. A sick feeling rose in his stomach - he felt as though he had spent the last several hours torturing his best friend, who had nearly killed himself trying to get help for _him_...but if he ended up with permanent damage because Ronnie had let him sleep before he'd gone to a hospital...he would never forgive himself.

"Bran...you can't, I'm sorry. You hurt your brain, you might never wake up."

"Please..." The word was barely intelligible through the great sob that wracked Brandon's body, tears now streaming freely down his bruised face. He refused to look at Ronnie, staring ahead at the beginnings of the sunrise instead.

Tears in his own eyes now, Ronnie couldn't find the strength to deny him any longer. "Oh...here..." He sighed, straightening his bent knee. He removed the jacket from behind Brandon's head and folded it across his lap instead. "Here, lay down, B."

Brandon just stared blankly, not comprehending the sudden change after so many hours of being continually denied. "You did a good job. You can sleep. It's okay."

Relief washed over Brandon's wan face all at once, but he didn't move, fidgeting anxiously. "Brandon, I promise. I'm sorry. You can rest now."

Brandon wavered uncertainly, then cautiously leaned sideways and stretched his legs out, laying on his side with his head across Ronnie's lap. When Ronnie didn't change his mind and tell him he couldn't sleep, he sighed and closed his eyes, finally relaxing. Ronnie swallowed the lump in his throat and his own tears fell as he lowered his head, kissing Brandon's feverish, tear-stained cheek gently.

"It's okay, little brother. You can sleep now."


	12. Chapter 12

The seldom-used conference room tucked away on the fifth floor of The Fontaine was packed with various officers and firefighters checking in from their searches and picking from the long buffet table of continental breakfast choices. Several members of The Killers' entourage huddled quietly in a corner of the room.

"...sent out notice of the cancelled shows this week about an hour ago, just said that they were cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances and fans could get refunds from the point of purchase...um...Olivia wanted to be the one to call Tana so she did that last night, and Ted and Jake went to pick them up at the airport a little while ago."

Robert, the band's general manager, had flown in from Las Vegas late in the night, and he drank deeply from his large coffee mug, rubbing his tired eyes. "...and, uh, nothing useful came from the taxi company. The sheriff says they've canvased a lot of that mountain range that the phone companies say was in the radius of their last known location and they haven't found anything yet, so..." He stared at the swirl of cream in his coffee. "I don't know," he sighed, and lapsed into silence.

No one else had anything to add to this, and they all sat quietly for a time, watching the activity of the emergency responders. The conference room door squeaked on its hinges and a small, morose group entered, led by Jake and Ted, with Brandon's petite, pixie-ish wife and three disheveled sons trailing behind. It was clear that all six of them had been crying and they made a beeline for the table that the sheriff sat behind, with papers, maps and various gadgets and radios spread haphazardly in front of him. Tana introduced herself and the others briefly, then pulled out a chair and sat across from the sheriff, speaking softly but urgently.

Jeremy watched them, grimacing in sympathy. "Well, they better find them, that's all I've got to say."

\- - - - -

The cheerful chirruping of songbirds and bright sunlight streaming through his eyelids roused Ronnie. Still half-asleep, he smiled, dreaming of the gig they would play that evening. His back and neck, though, complained bitterly, and he made a mental note to ask Jeremy to book a hotel with better mattresses next time they came to this city. He opened his eyes and froze for a minute, confused, and then it all came rushing back to him, like a bucket of frigid water had been thrown over him. There would be no gig tonight.

Brandon still slept across his lap, and Ronnie smiled softly, noticing that he had curled his arm protectively around the younger man at some point in the night, but the smile quickly faded and his stomach dropped as he examined his friend.

In the daylight, his wounds were even more ghastly than they had been at first glance last night. The bruises on his face, under his eyes and behind his ears were dark and livid against his pallid, greyish skin. Ronnie wondered for a moment how he had acquired bruises in such odd places, and thought idly that it looked as though someone had beat him with a baseball bat. Brandon was frowning slightly, his skin glistening with sweat, and Ronnie's heart twisted - he could clearly still feel the pain in his sleep. He missed the peaceful, innocent expression that usually graced his face while he slept. Something rusty red in Brandon's ear caught his attention and he looked closer, pulling back sharply with a sudden intake of breath. Congealed blood.

_ His fucking ears are bleeding...oh God, that can't be good...was that there last night? Is that normal with a concussion?_ Ronnie parted his dark hair gently with trembling fingers, remembering with an overwhelming, crushing surge of guilt how Brandon had flinched away from him last night when he tried this.

_ He didn't even want me to touch him, he thought I was going to fucking hurt him...I'm such a dick - did I even bother asking if he was okay? I...God, Brandon almost fucking died, but all he cared about was if I was okay and I just snapped and cussed at him...I never even thanked him for finding the fucking phone, did I?_

The gash was sickly red in the daylight, wider than Ronnie had realized in the darkness the night before, and as he looked closer he caught a glimpse of white and a wave of nausea forced him to turn suddenly and vomit into the dirt, gasping. He leaned his head back against the rock. _God, that's that's his fucking skull._

"I'm sorry, Bran, this is all my fault," Ronnie whispered to the sky, rebellious tears slipping through his tightly closed eyelids. _No matter what he tried to tell me last night...he never would have been in this mess if I hadn't been so clumsy..._

Taking a deep breath, he returned to his examination, stomach churning unpleasantly. He'd been exposed to a fair amount of gore as a teenager volunteering in a lab, but it was so much worse when the victim was his best friend.

The sheer volume of blood he was covered in made Ronnie shiver - Brandon wasn't a large person by any means, and he had lost so much blood...the back of his shirt was scarlet brown now, the dried blood making the fabric stiff. Brandon's back faced away from him, but looking down, he could see what was definitely shattered bone protruding from his shoulder, tiny specks of grey thread from his ruined t-shirt still clinging to it.

Very gingerly, Ronnie pinched the fabric and peeled it slowly away from Brandon's back, peering through the ripped shirt at the skin beneath. It was raw, bright red and angry around the site with a thick, cracked trail of dried blood running down his back. He guessed that the broken bone was Brandon's shoulder blade - or else maybe a rib that had broken and pushed through the skin in his fall?

_ What a mess._ It might have taken him several hours, but Brandon had still managed to climb up whatever cliff he had fallen down and hike all the way back to find him, despite such horrifying injuries...completely alone. _I could barely handle that hike on my ankle with him carrying most of my weight, but he did it with all of this bullshit and no one to help him..._

"Man...you don't look like it, but you're a tough bastard, little brother," Ronnie told Brandon quietly, a surge of affection filling his heart. He gently pushed a rogue lock of sweaty hair out of his friend's eyes, sighing. His skin felt warm to the touch, and Ronnie frowned and held his hand to his forehead. Definitely the beginning of a fever. _Something must be infected...God damn it, I wish I was a doctor._

He reached for his backpack and removed a water bottle, cracking the seal and unscrewing the lid. Ronnie hesitated, alternately screwing and unscrewing the bottle's lid while he pondered the wisdom of what he was considering.

Would attempting to wash the wounds even help, or would it just wake him up and needlessly cause Brandon more pain? He didn't have anything that might fight infection, not even salt water or a simple disinfectant wipe. He watched Brandon's pale, battered face carefully, taking comfort in every shallow rise and fall of his chest. _It's gonna hurt him, I can't...I can't do that. Not again._

Ronnie shook his head, put the bottle away, and caressed Brandon's bruised cheek softly with a shaky sigh. "You need a doctor, B, not a useless one-legged drummer. What are we gonna do?"


	13. Chapter 13

With nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company, Ronnie found himself dwelling endlessly on the conversation he and Brandon had had the night before, a dark cloud of shame and remorse looming over him. The moments when Brandon had shied away from his touch replayed again and again in his head, breaking his heart anew every time.

_ He was afraid of me, that's...Jesus, I fucked up._ In nearly two decades of ups and downs in their friendship, Brandon had never, ever reacted to him that way, and the hardest part was that Ronnie knew he had unquestionably deserved it. There was no excuse for how he had acted, no matter how tired and stressed he had been. Brandon had pushed his body past its limits so that he could return and make sure _he_ was okay, even as his own body was breaking down..._and I yelled at him for it, I never even said thank you...some friend I am._

Even if he spent the rest of his life working to make it up to Brandon, Ronnie knew he could never apologize enough for how he had treated his best friend at his most vulnerable. But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Ronnie realized that he could at least start trying today. He decided that Brandon had rested long enough - it was poor repayment for the hell he had gone through, but it was time to wake him up. Gently, he shook Brandon's uninjured shoulder.

"Hey, sleeping beauty, time to get up."

No response. Okay, he could be louder, no problem.

"BRANDON, YOUR HOUSE IS ON FIRE! WAKE UP!"

Once again, nothing. Fighting his growing anxiety, Ronnie shook Brandon's shoulder again, a bit more roughly.

"Brandon? God, please wake up."

Absolutely no reaction. _Maybe_...hating himself for what he was about to do, he raised his hand and slapped his friend's bruised cheek. Not even the tiniest twitch in response, but the horrible crack of the moment of impact echoed relentlessly in his heart, and hot tears sprang to his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry! God, Bran, _please_ wake up. I promise I'll never hurt you again, I swear," Ronnie whispered, clutching Brandon's fragile hand desperately in his own. Gasping raggedly for breath, he could hardly see through the tears, now coming fast and dripping into his lap, falling onto Brandon's unresponsive face.

"I'm sorry I'm such a shitty friend, I'm - I'm sorry I let you go fucking kill yourself on this fucking mountain for me and I'm so so fucking s-s-sorry all I did was yell at you when you spent fucking _hours_ trying to drag your d-dead ass back to me. I'm SORRY, okay, j-just fucking WAKE UP!" Ronnie was screaming at him now, tripping tearfully over his words and shaking Brandon's shoulder insistently.

And then the raging fire left him as quickly as it had come, and he seemed to wilt against the cliff, a flower fading without sunlight. Ronnie tenderly stroked Brandon's face and gently traced the cheekbone he had just slapped, the warm, pale skin covered in bruises and tears that were not his own, and whimpered, "No...pl-please - _please_ just fucking wake up, Brandon, please...you gotta - you gotta go home, you gotta go be a dad, you gotta keep annoying the shit out of everyone...you gotta help Tana, what's she gonna do without you, huh? What am I s'posed to tell her? And your kids? Please, _please_ just don't fucking do this to me, Bran, you're my best friend, man...m-my brother, I can't do this without you."

Brandon's eyes remained closed, his body perfectly motionless in Ronnie's lap save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Ronnie buried his face in his hands and wept.

\- - - - -

The Fontaine conference room was a hive of activity, people clustered around small tables having whispered conversations while the endless supply of emergency responders came and went and the police radios crackled to life intermittently, bringing infinite reports of "Mountain cleared, nothing found, sir."

Suddenly the police chief started, nearly spilling his coffee onto the fire chief seated next to him in his haste to scramble for a radio. "What was that, Officer Rawlins? Repeat."

"Sir, I've found a black backpack sitting on the cliff up here, a mountain on the southwest side. It's mostly empty, just some Gatorade and a red sweatshirt inside...but it's got 'B. Flowers' on it in silver Sharpie, sir. I'll send my coordinates. And, uh...there's a rock down the cliff that looks to have blood on it, sir, but no body anywhere."

From her table by the window, sitting with Olivia and her boys, Tana covered her face with her hands. The room was nearly silent now, except for the radio transmissions.

"I'm going to proceed up the mountain, sir, I've sent coordinates."

"Copy that, Rawlins. I want all available units to head for those coordinates."

\- - - - -

Ronnie was jolted out of his sad reverie by an unexpected sound - hooves clattering over rocky ground. "Oh my God - here! OVER HERE! WE NEED HELP!"

"Ronnie Vannucci and Brandon Flowers?" A man called, a bit of a Southern drawl evident in his voice.

"God, yes - please, my friend, he's hurt, please - " Ronnie could feel tears filling his eyes, a lump in his throat again.

Rounding the corner of the mountainside, a sandy-haired man in a black police uniform astride a sure-footed mule was the sweetest thing Ronnie had ever seen.

"Officer Rawlins," the man introduced himself, touching his own chest. "We've been looking for you boys all night, glad we finally found you," he said as he dismounted the mule and hurried toward Ronnie, leaving the animal's reins dangling freely.

"God, I've never been happier to see anyone in my life," Ronnie admitted, wiping his eyes with a shaking hand. "Um, I broke my ankle yesterday down the mountain a ways and Brandon helped me come up here, there was a rock over there that I was sitting on, and his phone wouldn't work when he tried to call for help so he went to go get mine from the cliff, it fell out of my pocket when I tripped, and...um...I guess he fell down the cliff trying to get the phone, and his head..."

"Ah, yup, I saw his backpack and the rock he hit his head on a little while ago," Officer Rawlins murmured, looking closely at Brandon's head wound, feeling carefully around the gash with his fingers, and glancing uneasily at the bone protruding from his shoulder. "Ohh...but how did he get all the way back up here?"

"He walked," answered Ronnie grimly, running a hand through his hair. "I don't really know much more, he...he wasn't really in any condition to talk when he showed up last night. He couldn't say much - I mean, he was talking, but it was really slow, and only like two word sentences, but he was walking, just really unsteady, tripping - he was talking...but - but now he won't wake up. I tried to make him stay awake but I couldn't, and now he won't wake up." Fresh tears welled up in his eyes as he forced the words out, a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach._ Oh, Bran, what have I done to you?_

"Alright, son, it's alright, we'll get some help," Officer Rawlins assured Ronnie, squeezing his shoulder as he stepped away and reached for the radio at his waist. "I'm just gonna call into the chief and get a chopper out he - "

Ronnie's heart stopped. "No! No, no, no, no, please, you can't - Brandon, he's - he's got this thing about flying, he's _terrified,_ he sees a psychiatrist and takes pills and everything and if - if he wakes up in the air, after everything...it'll - please, you _can't,_ please!"

"Okay, okay, calm down," the officer soothed, hands in the air to stave off Ronnie's panicked outburst. "I don't know if there's another safe way to move someone with head trauma like that, but I'll check in with the boss. Just hang on."

He walked back toward his mule, out of Ronnie's earshot, and Ronnie stared after him, his heart pounding nervously against his ribs. He had been cradling Brandon's limp hand ever since he had tried to wake him, and he squeezed it gently, whispering, "It's gonna be okay, B. I _promise."_


	14. Chapter 14

The Fontaine's conference room was filled to capacity now, with the entire band touring party crammed into every available space, and the tension in the hushed, crowded room was tangible. The police radio, silent for many minutes, crackled abruptly and Officer Rawlins' voice blared through the room.

"Sheriff, it's Rawlins. I've found them and they're both alive - " the room exploded in jubilant cheers and sighs of relief, and the rest of the transmission was only heard by the sheriff: " - but can I have a moment with you and the fire chief in private, sir?"

The sheriff nudged the fire chief sitting next to him and nodded to the door, picking up the radio and leading him through the noisy celebrations to the quiet, empty hallway. They proceeded down the carpeted corridor, then turned to face the closed door so they could see if anyone headed their direction.

"Go ahead, Rawlins. I have the fire chief."

"Sir, they're both alive, but Flowers is in real bad shape, sir. Vannucci says he broke his ankle yesterday and Flowers fell off of the cliff I passed, almost twenty feet, trying to get Vannucci's cell phone to call for help. I guess he somehow climbed back up the cliff and walked a mile or so up the mountain back to Vannucci, but he lost consciousness late last night and he won't wake up now."

The officer paused to breathe, and the sheriff cut in. "On it, Rawlins, I'll send a chopper - "

"That's just the thing, sir - I suggested that but Vannucci objected _very_ strongly, says Flowers has got a real bad fear of flying and he's concerned he might wake up in the middle of the flight, sir."

The fire chief raised his eyebrows. "Officer Rawlins, are you telling us that a man who travels around the world for a living is really deathly afraid of flying?"

"Uh, well, sir, yeah, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

The chief shook his head, bemused. "Okay, well then...how bad is his head trauma? He was walking last night you say? Talking? Good signs. "

"Yes, sir. Vannucci said he seemed to be having a real hard time though, real off-balance and falling everywhere. And he was talking, but real slow and only a couple words at a time. It sure looked like it might be a skull fracture to me, sir; he had raccoon eyes."

"Mmm. Yeah, he's gonna have to fly, we can't jostle him around on a stretcher with the mules and that's the only other way he'd be leaving that mountain.

The sheriff nodded, and added to his officer, "Just tell him they can fly together, if that's any consolation."

"Yes, sir."

The sheriff called for the helicopter to be sent to Officer Rawlins' location, and, decisions made, the pair returned to the raucous conference room. The sheriff tried to calm the happy crowd. "Can I have your attention, please? Everyone, please, quiet!" Gradually the din subsided.

"Thank you. There are some updates that you'll all be interested to know. As we understand it, Mr. Vannucci broke his ankle yesterday and Mr. Flowers, in trying to recover his cell phone to call for help, slipped and fell down the side of the mountain. He's sustained some head trauma as a result, but was able to make his way back to Mr. Vannucci on his own last night. We've called for a helicopter to transport them to the nearest hospital immediately and as we gather more information, we will share - "

Suddenly the radio crackled once, was silent for a few moments, and then Ronnie Vannucci's slightly hoarse, very irritated voice echoed through the room, bringing the nervous room to dead silence within seconds.

" - me that thing, this is fucking stupid. Who's the dumbass that said we're gonna fly outta here?"

Gobsmacked, the sheriff floundered uncertainly, reaching for the radio. "Sheriff Jones speaking."

"Hmm." Ronnie was unimpressed. "Well, listen up, Mr. Sheriff Jones - we are _not_ leaving this mountain in a fucking helicopter, so you better figure something else out quick. I'd rather just _live_ here on this piece of shit mountain than deal with that. Brandon doesn't have his Xanax and if there's even the _tiniest_ chance he might wake up in the air, I will _not_ do that to him. It's ugly as fuck without his pills. I don't care what you have to do, just come up with a better plan, no wings involved, or you can just fuck off and find me a competent police department."

Muffled snickers had sounded throughout the conference room as Ronnie's rant continued, and as the radio fell silent once again in front of the red-faced sheriff and fire chief, full-blown laughs, loud cheers and whoops of "Yeah, Ronnie!" resounded through the room and could be heard outside in the hallway by a bewildered passing housekeeper.

In the corner, Tana smiled tearfully at Olivia, who squeezed her hand. "See? Ronnie's gonna protect him, he'll be alright," Olivia whispered, returning her smile. Then she gasped, pushing her chair back violently and making a beeline for the sheriff's table. She leaned down and whispered to him urgently, and they had a short conversation before the sheriff fiddled with the dial on the radio, spoke into it for a second and gestured to one of his nearby officers, then handed it to Olivia.

Beaming, she ran back through the crowded room to her table, police radio in hand and a disgruntled young police officer in tow.

"Look, we don't have to wait to talk to them! The sheriff say we can have it for five minutes, just Officer Mills has to help us."

"Liv, you're a genius!" Tana squealed, a wide smile spreading across her face. "Let's find somewhere quieter, though - come on, boys."

Tana and Olivia returned to the room that Ronnie and Olivia shared, Ammon, Gunnar and Henry following behind, trailing their police escort. Officer Mills took the radio from Olivia: "Rawlins, Mills here, do you copy?"

"Copy."

"Sheriff gave Vannucci's wife the radio for a minute so she can talk to him, you got him?"

"Yup, just a sec..."

A long moment of silence stretched on as the little group gathered eagerly around the radio, then: "Liv?"

"Hi, honey - " Olivia paused, swallowing and seeming surprised by her own emotion. "I know it's only been like a day, but I miss you. We've been so worried."

"Ah, I'm alright Liv, be good as new in a few weeks. It feels amazing just to hear your voice, though...damn, I love you, babe."

"I love you too, Ronnie," she whispered, then nodded to Tana.

"Ronnie, how's Brandon? Please...the cops won't tell us much. He's...he's really not awake?"

There was a brief pause, then Ronnie asked, "Ah, jeez...is that Tana?"

"It's me. Liv called last night. Please, honestly?"

"Tana - oh - umm...he's, you know, he's hanging in there. He was walking and talking and everything just a couple hours ago. They're gonna have paramedics take a look got before they move him. His shoulder is really fucked up, as if he didn't already have enough shoulder problems. He's got a little bit of a fever but that's gonna get sorted out as soon as they get us out of here."

Ronnie was quiet for a while, then a long, heavy sigh came through the radio, and when he spoke again his voice was unsteady. "I... I'm...God, Tan, I'm so sorry, he deserves a better friend than me. I'm...I let him go off on his own and get hurt, and then I was horrible to him when he finally showed up because he'd made me wait for hours and I was tired and cranky and worried...I made him _cry,_ Tan...It's...it's all my fault, I'm so sorry. He's gonna be alright, though, I promise. Brandon's tough. He's getting all kinds of rest and then he's gonna be alright."

Tana bit her lip nervously - she could read between the lines and knew very well that it was more serious than Ronnie would let on, but of course she could deal with that once they finally made it to a hospital. Her kids were right beside her, listening to every word about their dad, and now wasn't the time.

"Ronnie, don't you _dare_...he wouldn't...he was never just going to sit there and do nothing, and if Brandon's a clumsy, reckless, stubborn person - and he is - then that's his own fault. We both know you're the best friend he could ever ask for. It's okay, I'm sure he's already forgiven you if there's anything to forgive. I have, anyway. Besides - he loves you," she added gently, smiling at the radio as if Ronnie were there to see it. "He would never have forgiven himself if he didn't do everything he could to help you, you know that as well as I do."

"...Yeah. Thanks." Ronnie's voice was gruff and clipped now, and they could tell he was holding back tears and Tana could feel tears of her own, suppressed for hours, threatening to spill. Officer Mills was getting restless from his place leaning against the hotel room wall, anxiously checking his watch.

"And Ronnie? We have to go now, but...thank you so, so, so much for taking care of him for us. Really. Thank you, thank you, _thank you_...There's no one I would rather have with him right now, and I can absolutely guarantee that there's nobody in the world he'd rather be stuck on a 'piece of shit mountain' with than you."


	15. Chapter 15

Sitting morosely and gazing anxiously off the cliff at the view of the forest below, Ronnie didn't notice the slight twitches of Brandon's eyelids until his fingers moved in Ronnie's hand, catching his attention immediately.

"Oh - _oh!_ Oh my God," Ronnie whispered, eyes fixed on Brandon's face. Perhaps twenty seconds of motionlessness passed, and then his fingers curled lightly around Ronnie's hand.

"Brandon?" Ronnie hardly dared to blink, he was staring so intently at his friend. The frown that had been etched into Brandon's bruised features for hours, as though his face was carved of stone, suddenly turned into a tiny smile, and his eyelids fluttered, then closed again.

"Hey, buddy," Ronnie said softly, squeezing Brandon's hand. Again, his own hand was squeezed in response, slightly more forcefully this time.

"Too...too bright." Brandon's voice was hoarse and cracked, but it was the most wonderful thing Ronnie had ever heard in his life, and a massive grin spread across his tired face. From a rock across the mountainside where he sat next to his mule, Officer Rawlins looked up sharply, watching them.

"Sorry, Bran, I can't control the sun. You can just keep your eyes closed if you want."

"Mm."

"Hey, we're gonna get out of here soon, we've got a cop and everything! It's gonna be okay."

"Mmm...how?"

"The police wanted to send a helicopter, b-"

That got more of a response than Ronnie had bargained for in his apparently half-awake state. Brandon's eyes shot open, revealing uneven pupils in familiar hazel irises that were now wide with unmistakable fear, and he struggled to sit up, groaning and hugging his injured arm to his chest.

"No - no no nononono - "

Ronnie tried to gently push him back down into his lap, but he stopped immediately as a pained gasp interrupted the panicked babble of objections. "I'm sorry - I'm sorry - we're not flying, Brandon, it's okay! It's _okay!_ I told them no, it's okay!"

Brandon's wild eyes met his own, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe. "N-not...?"

"No, Bran. No. I told them to find another way. It's okay. We're not flying, I promise. I wouldn't do that to you. We're _not_ flying. It's _okay."_

"...Oh...oh...okay..." Brandon swallowed thickly, then unexpectedly his eyes filled with tears and he looked down at his battered knees as he stuttered, "Ron....sorry, I'm - I broke your phone...I th-think...I'm sorry."

This was so astounding that Ronnie nearly laughed. "God, B, you think I care about the phone? I care about _you._ You broke _yourself,_ that's way more important than the phone. I'm the one who should be apologizing, Bran...I was an asshole and I snapped at you when I should have been falling on my knees thanking you for risking your life to help me, and I'm so, so, so sorry. I appreciate what you did more - more than I could ever say. You could've _died,_ Bran, and I... you're the best friend I've ever had and I couldn't live with myself if...I just freaked out on you, and I'm so sorry. Really, really, really fucking sorry, Brandon."

"S'okay, Ron..." His voice was slurred, his eyelids had begun to droop during Ronnie's speech, and he swayed where he sat. Ronnie carefully laid a hand on his good shoulder and guided him back down to lay his head on his lap once more.

"Tired..." Brandon murmured, and Ronnie shivered at the reprise of their emotional breakdown just a few hours before.

"It's okay, Brandon, go to sleep." He slipped his hand around Brandon's again and squeezed gently, then sat watching silently as his breath evened out and his face slackened, at rest.

Officer Rawlins watched, too, and spoke up quietly after a minute. "Damn, you really weren't kidding about the flying thing."

Ronnie glanced up at him, shaking his head. "Nah. It's nasty. If he's in his right mind and on his meds and the weather's alright he handles it fine, but...he's definitely not in his right mind at the moment."

"Mind if I let the chief know he woke up? That's a good sign, you know, I'm sure all your people will be happy."

"Oh, please do, yes!" Ronnie settled back against the cliff, peeling open the wrapper of a protein bar and taking small bites while he studied Brandon's face ponderously.

Officer Rawlins relayed the message to the sheriff, then twisted suddenly to peer behind him down the mountain. Ronnie heard the crunching of several pairs of boots on the rocky ground, and perked up, straining to see. "Who's that?"

"The paramedics have arrived," Rawlins announced, waving a hand down the cliff in the direction of the approaching boots. "They don't get hooves," he said, slapping his mule's rump affectionately.

"Hello, Mr. Vannucci - my name is Erin, and this is Steve and Mary - is it alright if we take a look at your friend? A tall, dark-haired woman in an EMT uniform introduced herself and her colleagues as they crossed the cliff, huffing slightly from the exertion of climbing the mountain. Over three hours had passed since Officer Rawlins' initial call about finding Brandon's backpack, and they must have hiked the whole way up.

"Please - he actually just woke up for the first time in hours a few minutes ago, for maybe two minutes."

"Ah! Excellent. Did he seem to know who he was, who you were, what happened?"

"Yeah, I think so, he was using my name and everything. When he came back last night, a little while before he lost consciousness, he forgot that he had hit his head, but when he first came back he was able to tell me that he fell - just he couldn't find the right word, he said he 'dropped.'"

Ronnie watched anxiously as the trio of paramedics gathered around him and Brandon, kneeling in the dirt. The tallest one gently touched Brandon's arm, then smiled up at Ronnie as he moved the arm and wrinkled his forehead in response. She spoke quietly: "Good news - he's actually just asleep this time, not unconscious. Can you tell us what happened? We know a little but sometimes things get lost in the shuffle. I want to hear it from you."

"Yeah, I broke my ankle yesterday and I guess he just fell down the cliff a little ways, trying to get my phone to get help."

"Officer, you said he fell off that cliff back there with the backpack on the ground?" The paramedic introduced as Steve called back to Rawlins as he examined Brandon's head carefully. The third paramedic was rifling through their medical kit and preparing an IV line.

"Yes, sir, about twenty feet, and then somehow he got back up the cliff and hiked back up here to find Mr. Vannucci."

"Wow, alright - and you don't know when he made it back here, exactly, but sometime last night?"

Ronnie nodded. "Yeah, we didn't have a way to tell time because my phone got busted when he fell, and I think maybe his did too...but I tried to keep him awake, I'd heard he wasn't supposed to sleep with a head injury if he hadn't been checked out yet, but I gave up around dawn, he got really...emotional."

Mary, the paramedic with the IV port, glanced up as she wiped the dirt from Brandon's arm with an iodine wipe. "Okay, so maybe six hours of unconsciousness. You did good. It looks like he might have a skull fracture - they'll need a CT scan to confirm, but yeah, it would be ideal if he hadn't...but sleep at this stage, rather than being unconscious, is a good thing." She stuck the needle into Brandon's arm and taped it into place, smiling as Brandon jerked in response to the needle. "And he's definitely just asleep right now, and that's good for his brain."

Ronnie sighed in relief and watched quietly as they continued their treatment, readying him for transport. Soon, they would finally be able to leave this godforsaken mountain.


	16. Chapter 16

With a sigh of relief, Ronnie grabbed his brand new grey crutches and hobbled through the door with a three week prescription for pain medication. Finally, after more than an hour's journey down the mountain on stretchers carried by police mules, and another hour back to the city in ambulances, they had made it to the hospital. The paramedics had sedated Brandon for the trip, not wanting him to wake distressed at all the activity around him. Ronnie's ankle had been x-rayed, set and casted, and although the doctors had suggested he stay the night for observation, he had refused and promised to stay hydrated and rest properly on his own. Ronnie just wanted to be with his wife and friends right now, more than anything.

Unexpectedly, Olivia waited in the hallway for him and his heart leapt at the sight of his favorite person. Seeing his wife for the first time since their disastrous hike, he fumbled his crutch and dropped it in surprise. It clattered to the floor, forgotten, as Ronnie held out his free arm and was rewarded with a bone-crushing hug. Olivia melted into his arms and buried her face in his dirt-streaked shirt, her body wracked with sobs, and suddenly Ronnie was crying, too, hugging her like his life depended on it. "G-God, Ronnie, I was so scared," she whispered into his chest.

"I know, baby, I know...me too. I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life. I thought maybe we were both gonna die up there. I couldn't...I love you so much, God, it feels so, so good to see you and touch you, Liv. I guess it was only a day but it felt like forever, in the worst way possible."

She just nodded into his chest while she hugged him, squeezing her eyes shut. Taking a deep breath, she pulled away and wiped her eyes, then looked up at him and giggled. "Ronnie, honey, you're a mess. We've gotta take you back to the hotel and get you cleaned up."

Ronnie grinned mischievously. "Oh yeah, you wanna help with that?" He leaned down and kissed her gently, wrapping his arm around her, but suddenly lost his balance and fell forward into her, knocking her off balance as well with a gasp. He braced himself against the wall behind her, the breath knocked out of him. "Ohhh...maybe not such a good idea right now, I'm not used to these damn things yet," he laughed, waving his hand at the abandoned crutch on the floor.

Olivia giggled again, leaning to retrieve the crutch and handing it to him. "Maybe not."

"I don't wanna leave yet anyway, how's Brandon?"

She shrugged, examining her shoes. "We haven't heard much yet. They took him back for tests and they haven't told us anything yet."

"Where's everybody waiting? We should be there, at least for a couple hours, and then I promise we can go back to the hotel and rest."

Ronnie followed his wife to the hospital waiting room, packed with The Killers' road crew and Brandon's family. He made his way toward Tana and was greeted with enthusiastic cries of "Uncle Ronnie!!!" as her children caught sight of him. He fell heavily in the empty chair next to his friend's wife with a sigh, Olivia settling in the chair on his other side.

Ronnie had barely leaned his crutches against the metal arm of his chair when he felt a hand on his forearm and looked up, surprised. "Ronnie..." Tana barely finished his name before she became choked up, bright tears in her eyes, and she cleared her throat with an impatient shake of her head, clearly tired of crying. "Thank you so much, Ronnie, for taking care of him. I don't care what you might have said to him, I meant what I said, Ron - there's no one I'd rather have with him. If he'd...well, if he'd been up there with anyone else, this whole thing would have been so much more stressful than it already was...but we knew he had you with him and we knew you were gonna do everything you could to keep him safe, out of everyone in the world he could've been stuck on that stupid mountain with. Just..._thank you_, a million times."

Unable to meet her eyes and be forced to see the gratitude there, Ronnie just nodded and smiled, the warm feeling spreading in his stomach fighting with the angry, squirming snake of guilt. He couldn't forget the way he had initially treated his friend, so seriously injured and yet desperately concerned with Ronnie's own welfare instead.

The most important consideration taken care of, Tana turned to updating the new arrivals. "While you guys were gone, they came back and asked my permission to do surgery. Brandon's got a compound fracture of his shoulder blade and they need to fix it. Apparently, it's one of the hardest bones in the body to break...go figure," she added with a small, shaky smile, then glanced down to consult notes she had taken in her phone. Beside her, Ammon, Gunnar and Henry conversed quietly among themselves, laughing and gesturing enthusiastically.

"And he has three broken ribs, and they said they did a CT scan and he's got something called...it's a basilar skull fracture, and probably some sort of traumatic brain injury but they said those don't usually show up on their scans and they don't know what's damaged or really how bad it is. Like...they don't know what kind of...problems...he's gonna have or how long they're gonna last, they said it might be weeks for some stuff or months or - or years or even...or even maybe f-forever, it's different for everyone and there's no way to tell if something is temporary until it goes away."

She swallowed and paused for a long moment, and then continued. "But, um...they said the fracture is actually good in a way because it relieved the pressure and the swelling of his brain, and that there's nothing that needs to be done to fix it, they just stapled his head back together and that's it, I guess. I guess usually people with brain injuries have issues with balance or tolerance of light and sound, or their memory doesn't work right, or they don't really understand when you talk to them, or they have trouble responding, or they just have these horrible headaches and they're tired all the time, or they lose their coordination, or sometimes they get really angry or really sad...there's just so much, Ronnie."

They sat in silence for a minute, processing, and then Ronnie's thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice. "Uncle Ronnie?" Gunnar, Brandon's middle son, sat nearest to Tana holding up a plastic bag full of Sharpies. "Is it...can we sign your cast? Please?" He sounded nervous to interrupt the adults' conversation, but Ronnie's heart melted.

"Oh, of course!" Ronnie reached down and removed the Velcro boot over his cast, exposing all of the white plaster that encased his foot and calf. "Go for it, please! I would be honored."

"No peeking, Uncle Ronnie," the youngest, Henry, told him seriously. The three boys gathered on the hospital floor near Ronnie's feet and each pulled several different colors from the bag, giggling to themselves as they wrote and colored all over his cast, doing their best to shield Ronnie's view with their hands.

Several minutes passed, the adults lost in thought and the children consumed by this new task, before Ammon announced, giggling, "Okay, we're done, you can look now!"

Every available inch of the blank plaster canvas had been covered in bright colors - little stars and swirls filling the spaces between doodles of Spiderman playing drums, a bearded Superman, Batman labelled 'Uncle Ronnie' and Robin labelled 'Dad,' even a miniature Jedi Ronnie armed with a green lightsaber. Scrawled boldly across the front of the cast, the words 'THANK YOU FOR SAVING OUR DAD, UNCLE RONNIE!!!' blurred beyond recognition as tears came to Ronnie's eyes.

"Oh, I didn't s- " Olivia elbowed him gently in the side and he recovered, deciding that no, denying it was probably not the best course of action, no matter how he felt. "I mean, I didn't expect that! This is so sweet, it's awesome! Thank you so much, you didn't...oh, come here, guys." All three boys piled into his lap as best they could for a group hug, arms wrapped tightly around his neck and chest, and the old hospital chair creaked at the extra weight.

"Thank you, Uncle Ronnie. We still have our dad because he was with you," Ammon whispered into his ear, grinning broadly through tears of his own.

"Anytime, kiddo."


	17. Chapter 17

At first, it felt like he was floating peacefully, like a fallen leaf's lazy journey through a river. He was unaware of the voices of his children at his side, telling him how much they would miss him, but that Uncle Ronnie and Aunt Olivia were taking them back to the hotel to sleep. He was unaware of the smaller hand that held his own for nearly an hour, oblivious as she slept in a chair beside him, slumped across the bed with her tousled hair spread across the grey woven blanket, his hand clutched fiercely in her own.

Countless visits by nurses and doctors went unnoticed, administering pain medicine, fluids and artificial nutrition, carefully turning his body, checking his vitals, cleaning his wounds and adjusting his bed, speaking quietly to him as they worked. Hours later, he was unaware of his wife and friends sitting just a few hundred feet away in the dismal, anxious waiting room as the first pinkish rays of dawn were cast across the sterile floor of his hospital room.

As the sun meandered through the cloudless sky beyond his window, he became aware of an insistent, irritating beeping, and then of soft voices that periodically surrounded him, then left him alone, with only the steady _beep...beep...beep_ remaining as his constant companion; and then pain as well. His pulse beat against his skull like a drum, keeping time with the beeping sound. His back was on fire, and a sharp, stabbing pressure grew and subsided in his chest with every breath. Quick, efficient footsteps pattered around his room, some anonymous woman prattling cheerfully about...morphine? Startled at his sudden ability to understand the speech around him, he tried to open his eyes, succeeding in only a weak flutter, but suddenly the woman's monologue stopped with a surprised "Oh!"

He felt fingers gently work their way into his own hand. "Honey, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand."

_ Oh...I can...I can do that..._

"Oh, lovely! Hello there, honey! My name is Mandy, I'm one of your nurses. Are you in pain? The monitors have been getting a little excited, I was just coming to check on you. Squeeze my hand if something hurts."

More confident now, he squeezed her hand firmly. "Alright, do you want me to give you medicine to make the pain go away? Squeeze my hand if you want me to give you medicine."

Another squeeze. "You got it, honey, it'll be just a second here." The hand left his own and he heard her bustling around his room, small clinks and pops the only other sound for a minute. There was a rustling sound, and then the color behind his leaden eyelids changed from scarlet to dark grey. Mandy's footsteps came back beside him and her fingers resumed their place inside his own.

"Alright, honey, it should hurt less soon. Do you want to try opening your eyes? I closed the curtains so it's a bit darker for you."

He _did_ want to try...but his eyelids felt so heavy. A tiny sliver of light, and then oppressive, impenetrable darkness again. "That's it, honey, you've got it. Keep trying." Another glimpse of light, a dull white wall, and then darkness.

With a massive effort, he forced his eyes open and lay on his side, blinking blearily at the small, red-haired woman in green scrubs in front of him. She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. "Hello, there, honey! It's good to see you awake so soon! Can you tell me your name?"

He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He frowned, coughing. "Um...B-Brandon. Brandon Flowers."

The nurse beamed at him. "Well, it's lovely to meet you properly, Mr. Flowers! I'm Mandy, I'm your nurse today. You're at Saint Luke's hospital, Mr. Flowers - do you remember why you're here?"

"Um...I r-remember...I was hiking with my f-friend - Ronnie! Is Ronnie here too? Is he okay? Got - he g-got hurt too, is he okay?"

Smiling, the nurse patted his arm. "Your friend is just fine, don't worry about him. Mr. Flowers, what's the last thing you remember?"

"I...uh - we w-were hiking and R-Ronnie f-fell and hurt his ankle, and I went to find his - his - his - his...I don't know, the th-thing to c-call for help, because m-mine wouldn't w-work...and...and...I d-don't know, I can't remember, I j-just was on the mountain and n-now I'm here!" The beeping had grown faster and more insistent and Brandon's hands were twisting his blanket mercilessly in his agitation, tears in his eyes as he pleaded, "Don't - I d-don't remember, why c-can't I remember? Why - _why can't I remember?"_

"That's alright, Mr. Flowers, don't worry about that right now. That's alright," the nurse soothed, pushing something from a syringe into the IV connected to his arm. Almost immediately, a sense of utter calmness descended upon Brandon, crowding out...what was I just thinking about? _Hmmm...oh well...this is nice..._

The nurse left, unnoticed by Brandon, who lay gazing at the wall, blissfully calm for several minutes, and then began fidgeting with the blanket again, eyes darting anxiously around the portion of the hospital room visible from his position. A red-haired woman in scrubs entered, greeting him with a cheerful "Hello, honey! It's good to see you awake!"

Bemused, Brandon furrowed his brow. "Sorry, d-do...do I know you?"

"Oh, silly me! My name is Mandy, I'm going to be your nurse today. Do you know your name?"

"Of course. Brandon F-Flowers."

"Well, it's wonderful to meet you, Mr. Flowers! You're at Saint Luke's hospital, do you remember how you got here?"

"Yeah, I w-was hiking with my f-f-friend, R-Ronnie - is he okay? He was hurt, too! Is he okay? Where's R-Ronnie?"

The nurse smiled. "Oh, he's just fine, Mr. Flowers, don't worry about him! What's the last thing you remember?"

"I...we w-were hiking, and Ronnie f-fell and got hurt...I went to find his ph-phone so I could c-call for help and...I...I d-don't remember!" His breath caught in his throat, his pulse thundering inside his skull like a stampede. "I'm s-sorry, I - I d-don't remember! Why c-can't I remember? I can't remember!"

"It's alright, Mr. Flowers, you've had a head injury. It's alright. Things will be fuzzy for a while but it's perfectly normal and everything will be alright," the red-headed nurse told him, her voice low and soothing as she uncapped a syringe and pushed its contents into his IV. Slowly, his breathing slowed and he visibly relaxed against the stiff, starchy pillow beneath his head, closing his eyes against the suddenly achingly bright lights.

"It's alright, Mr. Flowers," Mandy repeated, watching as he succumbed to sleep once more.


	18. Chapter 18

The ticking of the clock on the hospital wall was unreasonably loud to Tana, every new sound marking another passing second without Brandon. She was determined not to leave the hospital until he woke, and so she stayed behind while Olivia drove Ronnie and her boys back to stay with them overnight, and everyone else gradually trickled away and returned to the hotel for the night. A nurse on night shift had kindly provided a folding cot and blanket, set up by the window in Brandon's room, but she had only managed to fall asleep in a chair at his bedside, holding his limp hand tightly in her own, until a nurse checking on him woke her and gently asked her to move.

As dawn broke and set the room awash in pinkish light, she woke and for a while simply watched Brandon from across the room, drinking in every steady rise and fall of his chest. _He's going to be okay. He has to be._

She hadn't been able to look at her husband properly since he had emerged from surgery the night before, and her heart twisted at the pitiful sight. He had been propped up on his right side to keep the weight off his surgically repaired shoulder blade, bandages peeking through the neckline of his hospital gown, his left arm immobilized in a navy sling. Black and purple bruises covered much of the face she loved so much, and a few inches of his dark hair had been shaved in the back of his head, exposing a line of ugly grey staples embedded in his scalp. She normally thought of him as so strong, her rock, but now he looked so small and fragile. Breakable.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Flowers?" A dark-haired nurse had opened the door to his room, poking her head around the doorframe. "I'm afraid I need to ask you to wait in the waiting room for a few hours. We need to take care of some things. I promise one of us will let you know when you can come back, or if there are any changes."

"Oh - of course, just one moment," Tana replied, startled. She heaved herself to her feet, fighting a momentary spell of dizziness - _when was the last time I ate something?_ \- and made her way to Brandon's bedside, intertwining her fingers with his and stroking his sweaty forehead softly with her other hand. "I love you, baby," she whispered, tracing his bruised face with her eyes one more time. She bent down and kissed his cheek tenderly, then forced herself to tear her gaze away and leave him in the nurses' hands. Perhaps it was time she visited the hospital cafeteria, before the rest of their group returned to spend the day waiting for news with her.

\- - - - -

Later that afternoon, the nurses still had not given permission for Brandon to receive visitors again, and she sat in the waiting room, once again crowded with associates of The Killers; Ronnie, Olivia, Jake, Ted and her three boys among them. To pass the time, she mindlessly knitted a throw blanket, a pattern she had used dozens of times before.

"Mrs. Flowers? Can I speak with you for a moment?" A doctor that Tana recognized as Brandon's neuropsychologist called to her in a faint British accent as he walked briskly down the hallway toward the waiting room.

Her heart leapt suddenly into her throat. "Of - of course," she answered shakily, rising and rushing to meet him, glancing quickly at the name embroidered into the breast of his white coat. "Dr. Mavis. Is anything wrong?" He shook his head and motioned into an empty hallway, gesturing for her to follow.

"No, nothing is wrong, actually, quite the opposite. I wanted to inform you that your husband is awake, for about half an hour or so now, but...well, there are things you must know about patients with brain injuries before you visit with him. We'd like you to be prepared, we don't like to send families in blind.

"He's experiencing something called a post-traumatic confusional state right now, often called post-traumatic amnesia. It's actually a good thing, it's the first stage of recovery from a traumatic brain injury, and it's always temporary, but...temporary could mean just a few hours, or it could be several weeks, we have no way of knowing until it eventually ends. It's often...disturbing, both to the patient and to the family. He woke briefly earlier this afternoon as well, but the nurse needed to sedate him as he became very distressed.

"Essentially, he appears fully awake but his brain is still recovering, still half-asleep. It's almost like a computer stuck on a loading screen, if you will. As long as this stage lasts, he won't be able to remember much before or after his injury - our nurse who was with him when he woke says he remembers turning back to look for his friend's phone, and nothing after that point, and that it's rather upsetting for him. Some patients never recover those memories, and some do, eventually. He won't be able to form new memories, either, as long as this confusion stage lasts - he won't remember any conversations that might be had. He might ask you the same questions repeatedly. Our nurse mentioned he was very concerned for the welfare of Mr. Vannucci, kept asking her if he was here, if he was okay. He might be more emotional than usual, or perhaps even angry, when normally he wouldn't react in such a way. He is on a very high dose of pain medication, and sometimes patients who don't feel pain think that they are well enough to leave the hospital.

"He might yell at you, or curse, or cry, or threaten you, or do any number of things that may normally be out of character. He might find bright light or loud noises disturbing or painful - often too many visitors in a day, or more than one person speaking at a time, will overwhelm patients with brain injuries, so we will limit his visitors for now. We will have a nurse in the room with him providing supervision and guidance if needed, but we wanted to be sure that you were prepared. Do you have any questions? I will be back tomorrow morning to assess him, if you don't have anything in mind at the moment."

This was an awful lot of information, but the part that stuck in her mind and screamed at her, over and over, an alarm with flashing red lights blaring inside her head, was that he was _awake_. "No, Dr. Mavis, no questions right now." She could hardly contain the grin that wanted to explode across her face. Her heart felt like it might burst in anticipation.

"Alright then, please feel free to visit him if you wish - it would be wise to keep visits short for now, while he is awake. The nurse will let you know if he seems to be overwhelmed."

"Yes, of course - thank you! Thank you!" Unable to hold herself back any longer, she turned on her heel and sprinted through the hallways and waiting room, to Brandon's room beyond. As Tana reached for the door handle with trembling fingers, her heart fluttered in her chest, a nervous, excitable butterfly. At _last._


	19. Chapter 19

When Tana opened the door, it took her only a second to realize that Brandon was most definitely not in the mood for a reunion. He was sitting up in bed, drawn and pale, but much more animated than normal, fiercely arguing with a petite, auburn-haired nurse who calmly stood her ground as she stood near his bedside.

" - me out of here! I w-want to go...I want to...I want to go home! You can't - you can't f-fucking keep me here! You...you've me tied up, this isn't fucking - let me go!" He was holding up the arm with the IV line connected to his inner elbow, looking at it in clear horror, as though it were a snake. As he did so, Brandon turned his head in Tana's direction and saw her for the first time. An indescribable expression replaced the fear and indignation on his face and he stared for several seconds, open-mouthed.

"Tana - you have my wife too? No, let her go! You c-can't - please - no, j-just let her go!" With a sudden wrench and a soft tearing sound, he tore the IV line from his arm and lurched to the side as if trying to get out of his hospital bed. The orphaned IV swung gently from its stand, leaking medicine uselessly onto the white linoleum floor. Bright crimson blood ran down Brandon's arm in a steady rivulet, dripping onto the bed and the floor as he moved. The vitals monitor was now beeping so loudly that it was nearly screaming, the numbers on the screen flashing red, and Brandon cringed, flinching away from the noise and bringing his hand up to cover his ear.

Eyes wild and desperate, Brandon was now more distressed than Tana could remember seeing in years...not since his mother had died. She seemed to have forgotten how to move, how to breathe, her heart racing as she watched the blood stream down her husband's pale skin and fall onto the blanket below as he sat on the edge of the bed.

The nurse stepped up in front of him firmly, reaching out to push him back into bed. "Mr. Flowers," she began in a soft, soothing, cooing tone at odds with Brandon's abrasive, angry one - _crack!_ \- Brandon swung his uninjured right arm wildly in the nurse's direction, making contact with her face - "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME, BITCH!" he bellowed, his voice cracking, now holding his hand to the back of his own head as if in pain.

Reeling, the nurse bent double for a moment, hand covering her face and blood dripping through her fingers, then straightened and took several steps backwards. "I need some help in here!" she screamed, but the door had already burst open behind Tana, three nurses and a burly security guard rushing in. Her vision blurred by tears, she stumbled backward, blindly fumbling for the door and nearly crashing into the doorframe in her panic. Finally reaching the hall, her knees turned to jelly and she fell hard against the wall outside Brandon's room, a loud ringing in her ears drowning out the continuing commotion within.

"Darlin', are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he?" An older nurse with greying hair knelt down next to her, a soft, papery hand resting gently on her shoulder.

Tana shook her head vehemently, fighting the growing lump in her throat but unable to hold back her tears any longer. "No, no, never, of course not, he would _never_ \- that's...that's not my husband, that's not my husband in there," she pleaded, searching the woman's kindly cerulean blue eyes as if she would find him there instead. "That's not...what's _wrong_ with him?"

The nurse sighed and patted her shoulder gently. "It happens to everyone with bad head trauma, dear, it's not his fault. He doesn't know what he's doing, he has no idea. They don't _all_ get violent, but it's certainly very common coming out of unconsciousness. I've seen it happen to even the most timid people. They're confused, they're scared, they're in pain, their brains are hurting, and it causes some crazy behavior, some scary outbursts, things they might never do normally, and then they don't remember a thing when they come out of it.

"It's really quite common for patients to think they've been kidnapped, or that we're keeping them from something very important when they're perfectly healthy, all sorts of things. It's not his fault, dear. I'm sure he would be absolutely appalled if he knew what just happened. It's only a temporary phase, he'll break through it soon enough, just you wait."

With a sudden, near-hysterical laugh, Tana shook her head. "He's so shy, you know, so gentle normally - you'd never ever believe he could do something like...like that," she murmured, eyes fixed on her knees. The older woman rubbed her shoulder sympathetically, nodding.

Unbeknownst to Tana, the situation in Brandon's room had been resolved, the nurses and security slipping away unnoticed while she listened to this woman, and only silence filled the room now. She let out a long, shaky sigh, leaning her head against the wall behind her. "I just wanted to talk to him...to hear his voice, you know?"

"I know, dearie. He'll be better soon enough. Can I get you some water? Is there someone you'd like me to bring from the waiting room?"

"No, thank you...only Brandon," she said with a tremulous, wry smile. "I think I'll just sit here for a minute, if that's alright."

"Not a problem at all, dear. Take care." The nurse tottered down the hall back toward the nurse's station. Tana was left alone with her thoughts, brooding and anxious. The glee and excitement of just a few minutes earlier seemed like merely a distant memory. If this was only the very beginning, how much worse might it get?


	20. Chapter 20

Now that she had finally at least seen Brandon, awake and alert if not..._remotely_ what she had expected, Tana allowed herself to breathe and returned to the waiting room, keeping what had happened to herself. _There's no point in worrying anyone else about it, if it's only a temporary thing anyway._ She could worry enough for everyone, after all - his frightened, angry eyes stared back at her every time she closed her eyes. _But he was only trying to protect me, he thought we'd both been kidnapped somehow...he didn't even hit the nurse on purpose, he was just trying to protect himself and keep her from hurting him._ No matter how she tried to reassure herself, the incident kept replaying over and over inside her head, a loop from a horror movie she wanted no part in.

When evening fell and the waiting room once again began to clear out for the night, she asked Olivia to drive her back to the hotel with Ronnie and the boys, met with a cheerful "Of course, hon, not a problem at all! You need to rest!"

They picked up some take-out for dinner on the silent drive, and when she stepped through the door of the suite she and the boys were staying in, a wave of fatigue crashed over her. She served dinner and ate without even noticing what the food was, threw the containers in the trash and the dishes in the sink, and sent her children to bed. Finally facing a proper bed herself, Tana fell into it with a deep sigh, asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

Early the next morning, her cell phone rang shrilly from its place on the bedside table. Groggily, she fumbled for it, dropped it on the floor, and groaned and leaned over the edge of the bed to snatch it from the green and grey patterned carpet, answering while still hanging halfway out of bed, strands of her tangled blonde hair in her face. "H'lo?"

"Hi, this is Amy from Saint Luke's hospital, calling for Mrs. Tana Flowers?"

Suddenly, all traces of drowsiness fled and she righted herself, sitting upright in bed and running her free hand through her hair. "That's me, is Brandon alright?"

"Yes, ma'am, no need to worry! We thought you'd like to know that Dr. Mavis, his neuropsychologist, re-assessed your husband this morning and he passed the post-traumatic amnesia protocol - he's lucid and coherent, he knows where he is and what happened after we explained it to him, even if he can't recall the incident himself. He recognizes his nurses, and he's asking for you. We're not sure how long he'll be able to stay awake, patients with brain injuries need a lot more sleep than you or I, so if you can come to the hospital as soon as you can, you can see him."

"Oh! Oh, thank you so much! We'll leave right now, thank you!"

She hung up and shot out of bed, running to the bedroom with double beds shared by Ammon, Gunnar and Henry and knocking on the door rapidly. "Boys, your dad's awake! Get up and shower, quick! We've got to go, they said he might fall back asleep soon."

She showered herself and dressed as quickly as she could manage, then debated with herself for a moment about whether to call Ronnie. She decided she'd rather not wait for them to get ready, and sent a quick text instead informing them of the call and that they were headed back to the hospital. Tana called the front desk for a taxi and waited by the door as one by one, her children emerged from the bedroom, bleary-eyed and damp-haired, but brimming with excitement and unable to stay still. "All good, everybody ready? Let's go, we've got a taxi downstairs."

She herded them through the hallways into the elevator. The taxi ride flew by in a blur, and suddenly she was back in the familiar waiting room. The red-haired nurse from the day before was waiting for her, very chipper despite the grey bruise forming across her cheek and the bridge of her nose. "Just one visitor at a time, please," she asked as soon as she saw their little group. "We don't want to overstimulate him."

"Don't move," Tana ordered her children with a smile, and they just waved her on, huge grins on their faces. "Go, go mom!" Gunnar said, bouncing in his seat in excitement.

As she walked briskly through the hall, she could hear Brandon's voice, loud and clear, slightly irritated: " - don't w-want to, I want to see my family! I'm not - I'm not hungry anyway. Please, did you...d-did you call them?"

"Yes, Mr. Flowers, we did, I promise. I'm sure it'll just be a few more minutes, your wife was very - " the nurse's voice broke off as the door opened " - excited!"

"Tana!" Brandon cried, his face lighting up like bottled sunshine as he caught sight of her. She ran to his bedside and then stopped cold, glancing nervously at the nearest nurse.

"Sorry, can I - can I hug him? I'm not gonna hurt him?"

Not waiting for an answer, Brandon just giggled and took matters into his own hands. He grabbed her gently and pulled her closer with his good arm, burying his face in her peach-scented hair, still damp from the shower. "God, I missed you," he murmured, breathing as deeply as he could. Tana hopped up onto the edge of his bed and hugged him fiercely, reminded of his injuries only at the slight grunt and gasp when she squeezed.

"Oh, I'm sor- " Brandon had interrupted her apology with a tentative kiss, smiling against her lips.

"It's okay, I won't break," he whispered, pulling away to stare at her face, as if it were water and he were dying of thirst in the desert. He raised his hand and touched her face lightly, and she noticed his hand was trembling, and although he would look at her face, he seemed to be avoiding direct eye contact, looking near her eyes instead. "I love you."

"Mm, not more than I love you," she countered, running her hand gently along his arm. "God, Brandon, we were so scared. We could've...they said you still don't remember what happened?"

He shrugged slightly, lopsided with only one usable arm. "I remember we had a - a show the n-night before, and Ronnie...w-wanted to do something...to de-stress," he said with a sudden wry grin and the ridiculous, childish giggle she loved so much. "Funny, right?"

"Yeah, real funny, Brandon. And then what?"

He just stared at her, seeming confused, so she prompted him. "What happened when you and Ronnie went hiking?"

"Oh. We went up the mountain and Ronnie f-fell, he hurt his...his..." Brandon's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he gestured downward vaguely and began twisting the edge of his blanket between his fingers in agitation. "...I d-don't know, his leg?"

"His ankle?" Tana asked gently, watching him.

He lit up as soon as she said the word. "Yes, he hurt his ankle. And I tried to c-call for help but my phone wouldn't work...and he d-dropped his when he got hurt. I went to find it and, um...I don't remember anything else until like...right now. I don't...I d-don't know what happened. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know," he repeated, shaking his head aggressively, tears in his eyes.

"Oh, baby, it's okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," Tana whispered shakily, hugging him gently again, mindful this time of his ribs and injured shoulder. "It doesn't matter what happened anyway, it just matters that you're okay, right? You're gonna be okay, Brandon. I promise." Her voice became thick with emotion, tears in her own eyes, and Brandon returned her hug, squeezing tightly with his good arm.

"I love you," he said quietly, and suddenly they were both crying in earnest, hugging each other as if they would never let go.


	21. Chapter 21

After several minutes of crying on each other's shoulders, overwhelmed and exhausted by the events of the last few days, Brandon had fallen asleep on Tana's shoulder. She found herself unable to tear her gaze away from her husband's face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep, but eventually, she sighed and looked to the red-haired nurse for help - at some point, the other nurse who had been trying to convince Brandon to eat breakfast had slipped out. "Sorry, I don't know your name, but could you please help me...get out? I don't want to wake him."

"Mandy," the nurse whispered, holding a pillow near Tana's shoulder with one hand and gently bracing Brandon's head with the other. "Okay, you can get off the bed."

Tana wiggled away and slid down from the bed, watching as Mandy expertly lowered Brandon's head onto the pillow and then to the mattress, checking the staples embedded in his scalp as she did so. She carefully arranged him on his side with his injured arm resting inside its sling on a pillow, with a third pillow behind his back and slightly underneath his body, forcing him to stay in that position so he couldn't roll onto his broken shoulder in his sleep. She glanced at Tana and smiled, crinkling the corners of her eyes and drawing attention to the bruise underneath her left eye and spreading across her nose. "Normally people with TBIs sleep pretty heavily the first few months, because their brains are healing, so he probably won't be very easy to wake up for a while."

Tana's heart jumped into her throat. "Months? How - how long does this last?" She asked, waving a hand around the room.

Mandy sighed and shrugged, not meeting Tana's eyes. "Honestly, we never know with any of our patients. We'll send him to rehab or home once he's stable, should be soon but there's gonna be assessments and scans and stuff before then. There's just no way for us to tell how much or how quickly they'll recover or even really what their symptoms will be, the parts of the brain that were injured is just a guide. It's brain damage, it's not...it's difficult to treat. A lot of these things, you'll all just have to learn how to live with. You'll only find out if something's temporary after it eventually goes away. He might even develop new symptoms once he's home, or after a few weeks."

The nurse looked past Tana to Brandon, sleeping behind her. "I can tell you that usually people make a lot of progress in the first few weeks and months, and I can tell you that based on how much time he was unconscious for and how quickly he came out of the post-traumatic amnesia, it's somewhere in the middle of the spectrum as far as severity. We just don't know much more, but the neuropsychologist will be meeting with you soon here to give you a crash course in what to expect and how to help, everything. He's probably gonna need to go to a rehab facility for a while, there are gonna be some assessments now that he's awake so we can figure that out."

"...Oh." _So much to think about...so much unknown._ Tana touched her own face where Brandon had hit Mandy the day before. "I never said, but I'm so sorry that he - "

Mandy scoffed quietly, waving a hand in the air dismissively, sweeping away her attempt at an apology. "Don't worry about it, things like that happen kind of a lot in this unit, unfortunately. He didn't know what he was doing, please don't be upset with him. I know he isn't quite himself right now either, but he seems like a sweet guy. Just such a shame you guys have to deal with all of this." She took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. "Would you like us to let you know when he's ready for visitors again so your kids can see him? I know you've gotta go sit with them."

"Please," Tana sighed, trailing her fingers gently along the back of Brandon's hand in farewell and following Mandy to the door.

\- - - - -

Nearly four hours passed, during which the whole group gradually returned to the waiting room. The uncertain, anxious silence of the past few days had been replaced with an excited buzz, everyone elated at the news that Brandon had improved.

Jeremy came in bearing several cups of coffee in to-go trays, passing them out among the crew, then sat across from Tana and Ronnie. "Hey, we need to talk about the album and the tour, decisions need to be made. Do you want us to talk about it with Brandon, Tana, or do you think we should just kind of...do it for him and make an executive decision?"

Tana bit her lip, answering slowly. "Well...I don't think Brandon's in any condition to be making decisions on anything, especially the band...and really, I think it would just upset him if we tried...he's very emotional right now. I think Ronnie's the only boss - for now," she added with a smile, elbowing him gently.

"I'll try not to get used to it, I get the message," Ronnie chuckled. "But, um, I don't think there's any question about the tour, we've got to cancel it. Down the line when things are better, maybe we can start thinking about rescheduling it. The album...I don't know, can we just release it anyway? I'd hate to not give the fans _anything_, you know? Maybe that will tide them over for a few months til we figure things out. I'll come up with a statement or something, explain what's going on...try not to freak out the fans too much."

Plans made, the little group lapsed into silence, except for giggles and quiet conversation between the children as they leafed through several spiralbound notebooks, tearing out certain pages and piling them carefully on an empty chair between them.

Footsteps echoed down the hall and Mandy appeared, her ginger hair more disheveled than it had been that morning, falling out of its braid and framing her face. "Hey, who wants to be Mr. Flowers' next visitor? He's ready!" She announced brightly.

All three of the Flowers' children's hands shot into the air, and the nurse laughed. "I'm not supposed to, but..." She looked around surreptitiously, then held a finger to her lips with a smile and beckoned them forward.

Muffled giggles and whispers _\- "Shut up, Henry, she said to be quiet!" -_ could be heard as the trio followed Mandy, nearly running through the halls behind her, unable to contain their excitement.


	22. Chapter 22

"Alright, guys, hang on. Sit down with me for a second."

Mandy settled cross-legged onto the hospital floor, gesturing in front of her. Bewildered but obedient, the boys sat in a line, backs against the wall outside their father's room.

"First off, hello! My name is Mandy, I'm one of the nurses taking care of your dad," she said, smiling at each of them. Ammon, Henry and Gunnar introduced themselves quietly in return, although Henry was distracted and kept sneaking glances at the closed door to Brandon's room.

"It's lovely to meet you all. Now, how much do you guys know about what happened to your dad?"

The children glanced at each other, then Ammon spoke up. "Mom got a call from Aunt Olivia - uh, that's Uncle Ronnie's wife, do you know...?"

Mandy smiled. "Yes, honey, Ronnie is the friend who was hiking with him, with the broken ankle."

Ammon nodded uncertainly. "And mom was crying, she said dad and Uncle Ronnie went missing hiking, so we flew here. And then they found them but dad had an accident, he, um...he fell and got hurt. We know it's...it's kinda bad, he hurt his head and he was unc-uncon - um..." He trailed off, looking questioningly at the nurse.

"Unconscious," Mandy supplied softly. "It's...it looks like the person is asleep but they're not, they can't wake up because their brain is damaged and their brain can't keep them awake, they need to heal. And then they wake up when they're ready. Does that make sense?"

All three boys nodded silently. "Alright. Were you told anything else?"

Ammon bit his lip and shook his head, looking at his brothers again, but he said, "Not really. Dad broke his, um...his shoulder blade and his - his h-head and ribs, but...well, I guess we don't really know what that _means?"_

"Okay. Thank you for sharing with me, Ammon. If you want, I can try to tell you what to expect before we go in, is that okay?" All three boys nodded vigorously, eyes now locked onto her face. "When you see your dad, he might look a little different and act a little different than he did when you saw him before the accident. If you hug him, try not to squeeze too much because his broken ribs will hurt, it's too much pressure. But you can hug him if you're gentle. Your dad broke his skull when he fell, and the doctor needed to use staples on the back of his head to help it heal. It might look a little scary, but I promise it doesn't hurt him, the staples are there to help him. Do any of you have any questions?"

Gunnar raised his hand slightly in his lap, shyly. "Do you mean...like..._staples?_ Like for paper? In his _head?"_

Henry looked a little disturbed at this idea, and Mandy took a deep breath before answering. "It's a little bit different, honey, but yes, a lot like that. But they don't hurt him."

"Cool," Gunnar breathed, and his brothers giggled, the atmosphere around them lightening slightly.

Mandy smiled. "Your dad is also going to have a few tubes attached to him - there's one in his arm, just here - " She touched her own forearm lightly, the crook of her elbow " - where he gets medicine and fluids because you still need water and nutrition even if you're not awake to drink it, and there's one that hooks around his ears and in his nose to give him extra oxygen, because his brain needs lots of air to heal itself." Mandy mimed the outline of the cannula on her own face, watching the children carefully. "Do you have any questions about that?"

No questions; all three seemed comfortable with that, at least. "We've seen stuff like that on TV," Gunnar piped up, unconcerned.

"Excellent. When he hurt his head, it caused bruises as well, like when you fall and hurt your knee, right? Only his face is bruised instead of his knee, so his face might look a little different to you. He has bruises here, on his cheeks, and here, under his eyes. Those should go away soon, just like your bruises do. Any questions?"

All three shook their heads, unbothered.

Mandy shifted her weight and took a deep breath, watching the kids for a moment to gauge their reactions so far. "Your dad is going to act a little differently than he did before the accident, but he's still your dad, okay? He understands what you say to him, but he has some trouble speaking back to you sometimes, because his brain is hurt. He'll stumble over his words or maybe use the wrong word, or skip around in a sentence or pause in the middle of it because he's trying to think of what he wants to say next. Sometimes, he knows the word he wants to say but he can't find it. When that happens, he'll appreciate it if you suggest the word, if you think you know what he wants to say, okay?"

Nods all around - they actually seemed reassured to have a task, she noticed. There was a soft snort of laughter from Henry, who ducked his head, embarrassed. "Dad's not good at talking anyway," he confessed in a whisper, and all three boys broke out in giggles, an explosion of bubbly laughter.

"Maybe that will be an easy adjustment for you all, then," she smiled. "Another way you can all help your dad is if you try really hard not to all talk to him at once, alright? He's easily overwhelmed and it's hard for him to focus on more than one thing, so if you guys could maybe try to take turns talking with your dad, it sure would help him out a lot. Do you guys think that's something you can try?"

Ammon nodded, decisive. "Yeah, we can do that. Henry, do you wanna go first and give him our present? And then Gunny can talk when you're done, and then me?" His brothers nodded, and Mandy noted with relief that they all seemed much more relaxed than they had before she had started to prepare them. Still nervous, naturally, but that was to be expected.

"What kind of present do you have for him?" She asked, curious. Huge, bright grins suddenly broke out on all of their faces, a line of identical smiles that bore a startling resemblance to Brandon's face when he first saw his wife that morning - perhaps with fewer teeth and the addition of a set of braces.

"You can show her, Henry," Ammon reassured his little brother, who looked as though he would rather keep the gift for their father's eyes only.

"Oh, it's okay, if you don't want to - "

Henry picked up a manila folder that sat unnoticed by his feet and handed it to Mandy. "We made these for dad," he said quietly.

Inside the folder a little book lay, perhaps a few dozen sheets of hole-punched notebook paper tied together with...Mandy laughed, recognizing surgical thread tied around the pages in three secure little bowties. "Where did you get the thread?"

Ammon shrugged. "We just showed a nurse the pictures and asked nicely."

The cover featured a Crayon drawing of three boys and a small blonde woman and dark-haired man, sitting beneath a tree at a picnic spread beneath a bold title declaring 'OUR FAMILY, BY AMMON, GUNNAR AND HENRY FLOWERS.'

Leafing through the pages, Mandy saw countless different scenes, some in colored pencil, markers, crayons, or a mix of all three, signed with some combination of the children's names at the bottom of each page. The whole family gathered at what seemed to be a concert...Brandon reading to the kids in an airport...Brandon and his wife laughing together in the kitchen...Brandon and one of the children - Ammon, she supposed, as it bore his signature - sitting alone on the sidewalk curb, talking, his arm wrapped around his son's shoulders...dozens of pictures, all beautifully drawn in a child's imaginative hand.

"Do you think he's gonna like it?" Henry asked hopefully, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

"Oh...Henry, I think he's gonna absolutely love it, honey. You might make him cry," she added, half joking and half as a serious warning.

Again, Henry giggled. "That's okay, dad cries a lot." All three brothers burst out in peals of laughter again.

She closed the book and its protective folder, handing it back to Henry, who clutched it tightly with both hands. "Ease up, Henry, you're gonna bend it," Gunnar whispered, touching his little brother's hand lightly.

"Okay, just one more thing before we go see your dad. We need to keep this first visit short, because he's had a bit of a long day, so I'm gonna ask you guys to wrap it up after about ten minutes if he seems tired, but if any of you want to end your visit early, the magic word is 'dinner,' alright? Just tell your dad that you want to go have dinner, or that you should leave him so he can have his dinner, and I'll get you guys out here, okay? Does that sound good?"

All three boys nodded. "Can we come back tomorrow and visit again?" Ammon asked.

"I'm sure you will be able to, Ammon. We just don't want to do too much at once while your dad is still recovering, okay?"

She waited for all of the children to agree, and the heaved herself to her feet, rubbing her aching back. "Alright, boys, let's go see your dad."


	23. Chapter 23

The hospital room door squeaked open and Brandon looked up to see a familiar, bubbly red-headed nurse poke her head in. "Hi, Mandy," he greeted her, offering an unsteady smile.

"Hi there, Mr. Flowers! I have a few small visitors who would like to see you, if you're up for it?"

His heart suddenly felt like it might explode out of his chest in anticipation. "Oh! Not my - my - my kids?"

Mandy just smiled and stepped into the room, followed by - _"Henry! Gunnar! Ammon!"_ All three looked rather tired and nervous, peering around the room uncertainly as they approached his bedside.

"Dad, can we - is it okay if we hug you?" Ammon asked, his voice choking off at the end of the question as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Brandon smiled and held out his arm, and Henry, first in line, nearly collapsed into the hug, sobbing. "Hey, hey, Henry, b-baby...it's...it's okay," Brandon whispered, stroking his youngest son's hair gently as Henry clutched the front of his hospital gown, now weeping hysterically into his chest.

His heart broke when he glanced up at Gunnar and Ammon and found them crying, too. "Come on, kids," he offered, tilting his head slightly in invitation. He noticed that they both looked to Mandy for permission before they obeyed, finally settling gingerly onto the edges of his bed and leaning in to join the hug. "It's okay...see - I'm o-okay, see? Ohhh...I l-love you guys so much. I'm okay."

"We were so scared, dad," Henry sniffed, and guilt twisted in Brandon's heart like an agonized animal's death throes, appalled at what he had put his family through. He began to formulate an apology, his brain working at a snail's pace, but suddenly Henry's eyes widened and he looked around wildly.

"Where - "

Mandy cleared her throat from her position behind them near the bathroom door, and held out..._a folder?_

"Oh, thanks Mandy, guess I dropped it," Henry said sheepishly, taking it with a watery smile. "Dad, we made you...well... just look," he said, placing the folder on Brandon's lap. Brandon reluctantly removed his hand from his son's hair with a final soft sweep through it and a gentle kiss on the top of his head, then opened the folder. "Oh..." He whispered, touching the little family on the cover delicately.

Henry giggled and poked at one of the surgical thread bowties. "It's a book, daddy, you have to open it!"

With trembling fingers, Brandon fumbled with the pages and opened the book, spending nearly a full minute looking at the first picture - himself asleep on the couch and Gunnar cuddled into his chest, napping with him, signed in Gunnar's untidy, giant scrawl across the bottom of the page. Hot tears suddenly obscured his vision and he hastily pushed the book away, swiping at his eyes.

"Don't you like it, daddy?"

Henry's quiet, anxious voice startled Brandon and he laughed shakily and wrapped his arm tightly around his son's shoulders, bringing him closer in a sideways hug.

"Like it? I _love_ it. It's...this is the - the s-s-sweetest thing I've ever...thank you so much, Gunnar, Ammon, Henry, really, you...thank you, thank you. I love it - I do! I just don't want to g-get it wet. Thank you, th-thank you. Deserve - no - I don't - I don't deserve such amazing kids."

Gunnar spoke up now, and Brandon noticed that he was cracking his knuckles, a recently acquired nervous habit - _that he probably picked up from me,_ he thought guiltily, watching the fidgeting.

"Dad, remember when mom was sick and you cancelled your tour and you cooked for us every day and took us to school and helped mom and everything? You're like Superman!"

Brandon's heart sank through the white linoleum floor, a deep, yawning pit in his stomach. He did remember - _and now I can't even get out of bed; what a pathetic excuse for a dad._ But he forced the thought down and painted a smile on his face. He reached out to squeeze Gunnar's hand, appreciating the gesture nonetheless. "Thanks, Gun. That's sweet."

"Dad, whenever they let you out of here, you should know mom's never gonna let you go hiking again," Ammon teased, grinning mischievously at him. "You're gonna have to find a new hobby. Maybe you can get mom to teach you how to knit, that's nice and safe!"

Brandon laughed, a genuine, mousy giggle which triggered all three of his kids to laugh with him - or perhaps _at_ him. "I think I might...poke my - my eye out instead," he said, raising his hand to rub the back of his head, where a pounding headache grew. "How's... how's your mom?"

The kids all shrugged. "Better when you get out of here, I bet," Ammon mused, picking at a stray thread in Brandon's blanket. "She's just...nervous. But a lot happier now that you're awake and everything!" He perked up suddenly, jerking his head up to look at Brandon with a little gasp. "Oh, don't tell mom I said this, but I overheard Uncle Ronnie and Aunt Olivia offer to move in with us for a little while when we get back home! Wouldn't that be so fun, dad? It would be so cool to get to live with Uncle Ronnie!"

His brothers both looked surprised and thrilled at this revelation - apparently this was news to all of them. "I'm...I...I'm sure..." Brandon started, trailing off and cradling his head in his hand, moaning as the ache intensified and stabbed into his skull. The lights, already thoughtfully dimmed for him by the nurses, suddenly seemed painfully bright and harsh.

"Alright, kids, time to go. Your dad needs rest. I'll bring them by again tomorrow, Mr. Flowers, if you're feeling up to it," Mandy promised as she stepped from her place against the wall and ushered the children off the bed. She herded them efficiently in front of her, but Gunnar side-stepped the nurse as they reached the door and turned back.

"Wait, just - dad, I'm really, really glad you're not dead," Gunnar said simply, with such matter-of-fact bluntness that Brandon couldn't help but smile despite the relentless, invisible jackhammer pounding holes into his shattered skull.

"Me too, Gunny. Me too."


	24. Chapter 24

"Okay, Brandon, can you move into this chair for me?"

Ryan, the physical therapist assigned to Brandon's case, waited patiently while Brandon looked at the wheelchair less than a foot away as he sat on the edge of his hospital bed, lowered so that his feet could rest on the floor. Carefully, he braced his weight against the mattress with his right arm, Ryan's hand securely wrapped around his bicep, guiding him as he stood. Swaying gently, he stood still for a few seconds, then shuffled around painstakingly and gripped the arm of the wheelchair as he lowered his body into the seat.

"Good, good, that's excellent, Brandon!" Ryan enthused, careful to moderate his volume in the dimly lit room. "I need to test your strength. Will you hold your right arm out like this, with your upper arm in line with your shoulder and your hand and forearm pointing down to the floor? Just like this," he added, demonstrating, as he saw confusion cloud Brandon's face, unsure what the therapist wanted.

"Oh. Okay."

"I'm going to apply pressure to your shoulder, and I want you to try to hold your arm steady - try not to let me push it down, okay?" Brandon held his arm firm briefly against the pressure before caving, allowing his arm to drop to his side.

"That was excellent, Brandon, thank you. Can you hold out your right arm in front of your body for me, as straight as you can? I'm going to try to bend your arm, and I want you to try to resist me, try to hold it straight, okay?"

Brandon nodded and held out his arm straight, but wavering slightly up and down and from side to side. Ryan gently grasped his forearm and applied upward force, as if to compel his arm to bend. Brandon held his resistance for a second and then lost the fight, watching sullenly as his arm bent against his will.

"Very good, Brandon, that was great! We're going to try the same thing with both of your legs, alright? Can you try to hold your right leg out straight in front of you, like this? Hold it as straight as you can while I try to bend it."

The tests continued for several minutes, assessing his wrist and ankle strength and many other muscle groups as well, all with similar results. "Excellent work, let's take a five minute break, shall we? We'll try walking next."

Brandon nodded and sighed, then closed his eyes and rested his chin in his palm, elbow propped up on the arm of the wheelchair. All too soon, Ryan's quiet voice broke the silence once more. "Brandon, are you ready to try walking? Are you too tired? We can do this another day."

Forcing his eyes open, Brandon shook his head and sat up straighter. "No...I'm ready."

"Perfect."

Ryan stood and retrieved a grey metal cane with four little feet from the corner of the room and placed it in front of the wheelchair. "First, I just want you to stand still and hold onto the cane, okay? I need to make sure it's the right height for you before we try to use it."

Brandon heaved himself to his feet and clutched the cane, his hand shaking visibly against the surface, not quite gripping it securely. "Awesome, you can sit down again, please." He sat heavily in the chair, watching with dull interest as Ryan adjusted the height of the cane. "Okay, I'm going to ask you to stand again and then I'm going to move the wheelchair away and support you from behind, make sure you're stable. I want you to take five steps and then stop, alright?"

"Okay." Brandon stood again, leaning his weight into the cane as he rose. Ryan unlocked the wheelchair's brakes and moved it out of the way, taking his place behind Brandon and holding his hips firmly. "Okay, you can try walking. Five steps, Brandon."

Taking small steps, Brandon shuffled forward, fumbling with the cane. "I think...I think I can do it without the...the...this," he said to the therapist over his shoulder, waving vaguely at the cane at his side.

"Okay. You might find it difficult to concentrate on moving it and your legs and keeping your balance, but I want you to try some more with the cane so I can get an idea of how you move with and without it. Can we do two laps? Let's go to the door and then back to the window, okay?"

At a slow pace, they traversed the floor, Brandon occasionally tripping over his feet and stopping briefly for a break halfway through. Back at the window, Ryan guided him back into the wheelchair. "Take a breather, walking without a device will be more difficult than you expect, I think."

He allowed Brandon another ten minutes of rest, then they stood again and the therapist gripped Brandon's hips securely once more, ready to stabilize him if he lost his balance. "Okay, are you ready? We'll just do five steps again." Two steps in, Brandon wavered and leaned backward, saved from falling by Ryan's strong grip at his hips. "Careful, it's okay, we can rest for a bit."

A minute later, Brandon was ready to continue, and finished his five steps without further incident. "Do you want to be done for the day, or do you want to do two laps without the cane, like we did earlier?" Ryan asked quietly. Brandon only nodded and waved toward the door. "Okay, tell me when you're ready."

Shortly, Brandon tapped Ryan's hand at his waist with his own: "I'm ready." Carefully, they advanced as one, Brandon tottering and stumbling a bit, weaving slightly back and forth as he walked. His face was shining with sweat from the exertion, and his hands and legs grew more unsteady as they continued, palms slick with persperation. The pair reached the door, then turned back and retraced the path to the window, where Ryan eased him back into the wheelchair.

"That was great, Brandon, really excellent work. I think we're done for the day, that was really impressive!" Brandon smiled tremulously, not really listening, eyes moving restlessly around the room as he breathed deeply, trying to relax again. "Alright, let me help you get back in bed and I'll call your nurse to get you settled. You need to rest, you've been working hard."

Brandon snorted at that, a quiet, harsh laugh. "Oh, yeah...r-real fucking hard," he muttered, the bitterness of sarcasm dripping from each word.

Ryan frowned and pulled over a chair, sitting across from Brandon and running a hand through his sandy hair. "Hey, you've just had a really serious brain injury, just a few day ago! It takes time to recover, lots of time and patience and hard work. I know...I know it can be hard not to compare what you could do before the injury and what you can do now, but this is only the beginning. It's going to get better, if you're willing to work at it! You just have to find the right balance between pushing yourself to improve and giving your body the respect and rest that it needs to get better. Okay? I promise."

Brandon only shrugged, not meeting Ryan's eyes. "I think...I think I want t-to sleep."

"You got it."

Ryan wheeled the chair over to the bed and supported Brandon as he struggled to his feet, limbs shaking in earnest now, clearly exhausted. He helped him into bed, settling him back against the pillows. "Really, Brandon, I know you're frustrated, but you really did a great job. You should be proud of yourself - _I'm_ proud of you."

Brandon only sighed, ignoring him, tears shining in his hazel eyes as he stared down at his hands, one limp in his lap and the other confined inside his sling. Ryan gripped his right shoulder and squeezed briefly.

"Get some rest, Brandon. I'll be back tomorrow morning."


	25. Chapter 25

"Good morning, Mr. Flowers!" Mandy's cheerful face appeared in Brandon's doorway, a paper bowl clutched in her hands. "How are you feeling?"

Brandon shrugged, fidgeting with the edge of his sling. "My head...it hurts."

The nurse frowned slightly and checked a folder at the foot of his bed. "Well, let me bump up your medication a bit. I brought you some Jell-O, if you'd like to try eating - I know it's not a proper breakfast, but we have to start small."

Brandon shook his head. "Not...I'm not...n-n-not...not...I'm n-not..." He sighed and fell silent, with such a defeated expression that Mandy had to fight the urge to drop everything and hug her patient.

"You're not hungry?" She suggested gently, noting the light that flared back to life in his eyes as she spoke the word he had been searching for.

"Yes, I'm not _hungry,"_ he repeated firmly, a tiny smile of thanks tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, that's alright, but can you just take one bite for me? Just one bite, and then I'll leave you alone." He hesitated, looking at the little bowl uncertainly. "Please, Mr. Flowers?"

"...Okay."

Mandy smiled encouragingly and wheeled the bed tray over to Brandon, placing the bowl with its plastic spoon in front of him. He stared at the bowl for a while before raising a trembling hand, grappling with the spoon for several seconds before he could finally hold it. His hand shook badly enough that the spoon rattled the bowl, nearly upending it before Mandy hastily held it securely against the tray.

Brandon tried unsuccessfully to scoop the bright green Jell-O onto the spoon, once...twice...three times...over and over, he underestimated the distance to the bowl, scooping the air just in front of it, and a scowl grew on his face with every new attempt. On the fourth try, he managed it at last, holding a wiggling spoonful of Jell-O. Brandon moved the spoon toward his mouth, but his hand shook so violently that the spoon tipped over and the little blob of Jell-O fell onto the tray.

"I'm s-s-sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry - "

Mandy swept up the mess with a napkin and carefully took the spoon from Brandon, placing it back into the bowl and sliding the tray away from him in one smooth motion.

"Mr. Flowers, please, it's alright! You did a great job, that was your very first try! It's okay. It's _okay,"_ she repeated slowly, watching him anxiously. He looked dangerously close to tears, breathing too quickly and shrinking in on himself, eyes downcast with his arms folded protectively across his chest. Perhaps a distraction was needed.

"Your physical therapist, Ryan, told me he'll be down to see you in a little bit! What did you think of your first session yesterday? Ryan said you did a good job!"

Brandon shrugged, not looking at her, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. She waited patiently, and finally he spoke to his knees. "I'm - I'm useless. W-w-worthless."

_Shit shit shit. Not a good choice of distraction._ Mandy's eyes widened in concern, her face softening, and she sat in the chair by his bed, hoping that he might feel better if she stopped looming over him. "Ohhh, Mr. Flowers, of course you're not! What makes you think that?"

His eyes were misty, his face drawn and pale, older than his years. "I'm - I - I'm not - I - I can't..." Brandon closed his eyes and sighed, silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was slow and deliberate. "I can't do anything. I c-can't eat...I can't...can't t-talk right..I can't even...I can't even fucking _walk_...there's n-n-nothing...nothing _wrong_ with my fucking legs but I can't...I c-c-can't..." Mandy's heart twisted as she watched his face crumple, his body shaking with sobs.

"Oh, honey...I know, it's horrible, it's so frustrating, isn't it?" She reached out hesitantly and touched his hand, but he flinched and pulled it away. The nurse sighed and leaned back, giving him space, and sat in silence, waiting for him. When he began to regain his composure, she tried again.

"Is it alright if I call you Brandon?"

He waved his hand through the air just above his blanket, a small gesture of indifference.

"Thank you, Brandon. Look, can I tell you what I see?" She waited again for his permission, and was rewarded with a brief second of eye contact as he looked up at her.

"What I see, Brandon, is someone who is worth the world to so many people. All those people out there, Brandon, they're gonna help you get better. I don't know how long it's gonna take, but I can guarantee that you'll feel a lot better in six months - or in a year, or five years - than you do right now. It's a real slow, painful, miserable process, honey, it is. I won't lie to you. There's so much that we don't know and it's terrifying."

Mandy paused for a minute to give Brandon time to digest what she had said, idly smoothing his blankets against the mattress.

"This injury that you have, honey...it's horrible. We can't even treat brain injuries effectively because every single one is different, and honestly, we don't know enough about how the brain works and how trauma affects it and how it heals. But if it helps, Brandon, every single person I've seen in this ward in the last fourteen years has reacted exactly like you. You feel like you can't control your body, and you can't control your own emotions, either. Maybe one second you're fine and the next it feels like the world had ended, or you'd give anything to just punch someone because you're so angry at something that never would have bothered you before, right?"

Mandy paused again. After several seconds, Brandon nodded, almost ducking his head into his chest, as though he was ashamed to admit such a thing.

"It's just...it's a combination of the brain damage and the pain and just..._grief._ It's a perfectly normal reaction when something is taken away - your whole life, in a way, right? Does it feel a little like that?"

She waited, and eventually he nodded, looking down at his hands.

"I know, honey, you remember all the things you could do before, just a couple of days ago, and now it feels like you've run a marathon when all you've done is have a conversation, right?"

Again, Brandon nodded, his eyes filling up with tears once more.

Mandy reached for his hand again - this time, he let her, and she squeezed it gently before letting go. "The thing is, Brandon, I can't tell you what's going to happen and I can't tell you how to handle it. A brain injury...it's not as simple as a broken bone or pneumonia. We can't just make you rest and give you medicine and make it better. We can't just put a cast on it, give you some crutches and tell you not to use it for a few months and you'll be fine. You need your brain, and you have to _use_ your brain every second of every day, even though it's hurt and it's crying out for you to just let it rest.

"The only way to help your brain heal is to find a balance between exercising it - doing the things that hurt and make you tired, make you uncomfortable - and letting your brain rest. And you need the people around you to understand that and be patient with you, but most of all, you need to be patient with yourself, Brandon."

The nurse paused again, noticing the heaviness of Brandon's eyelids and tracing the wavering path of his hand as it rose to touch the back of his head - no doubt an attempt to ease a headache. He was tired. She lowered her voice and continued.

"It might take years to feel close to normal again, but look how far you've already come in just a few days, honey! So many people take months just to wake up properly. So many people need years just to be able to take a few steps with the therapist, like you did only days after the accident. Look at all the things you couldn't do two days ago! It will take time, and it will be hard, and it will be painful - probably the hardest, most painful thing you've ever been through in your life. But I promise that how you feel right now...this is the worst part, Brandon. I promise."

They sat in silence for a while, then Brandon looked up at Mandy and held her gaze for a moment. "Thank you." His voice was strained and his eyes were hazy and unfocused, fighting his crippling pain and fatigue - but he looked a little more at peace, at least.

"You're welcome, honey. That's what I'm here for. Go to sleep, I'll tell Ryan to come back tomorrow. You've had more than enough excitement for one day. You need to rest."

Mandy boosted his morphine a touch and waited until he eventually drifted off to sleep. She sighed as she gathered up the abandoned bowl of Jell-O and left Brandon alone to sleep in the darkened room, closing the door softly behind her.


	26. Chapter 26

"Mr. Flowers, I have a visitor for you, if you're feeling up to it before therapy," Mandy announced as she finished adjusting Brandon's bed, having just changed his sheets and provided fresh pillows and blankets. She helped him settle back into the pillows and smiled when he nodded to her. He'd been having a rough morning, troubled by an intense migraine, but the medicine she had given him had begun to take effect, calming the worst of the symptoms. Mandy disconnected the IV and capped the port in his arm so he would be unencumbered by the line and its stand during therapy.

"I'll go fetch him, I'll be right back," she said brightly, squeezing his shoulder as she turned to leave. A few minutes later, the nurse returned followed by a familiar bearded face and was richly rewarded as she watched her patient's face light up in glee.

"Ronnie!! F-finally!"

"I'm sorry, Brandon, I was trying to give you space, give your family time to visit you," Ronnie said sheepishly, scuffing the floor with one of his crutches.

"You're - you're my f-family too, Ron," he said quietly, smiling at his friend, a beautiful sight that Ronnie now realized he had missed more than anything the last several days. "Don't you kn-know that by now?"

Ronnie grinned at that, a lump in his throat as he hobbled closer to Brandon's bed. "Guess I'm just a dumbass, I'm sorry I took so long. Sorry, Mandy, do you mind...?" He asked, waving a crutch at the chair sitting against the wall.

"Oh, of course!" She moved the chair to Brandon's bedside and stepped back again, melting into her usual place against the bathroom wall as Ronnie sank gratefully into the chair and leaned his crutches against the side of Brandon's bed.

"Your kids turned my cast into a masterpiece, Bran, did you see?" He smiled at his friend and lifted his leg up so he could see, supporting his calf from beneath with both hands.

"Oh, a Ronnie V-Vannucci Jedi - yeah, those are my kids," Brandon beamed back at him, examining the art. "They're sweet."

"They really are. It feels so good to see you actually awake, brother, you've got no idea...I thought we were both goners for a while there," Ronnie said softly, lowering his foot back to the floor.

Brandon sighed. The joy melted from his face as quickly as it had come, replaced by confusion and a sadness so profound that Ronnie ached to hold him. "I d-don't remember anything," he whispered, staring down at Ronnie's feet.

"That's alright, it's probably a good thing." Ronnie reached out and squeezed Brandon's shoulder, leaving his hand resting there lightly. "I wish _I_ could forget it, honestly," he added, his eyes glazing over. "It was easily the worst couple of days of my life."

"I never...I never thanked you," Brandon said quietly. His eyes, brimming with sparkling tears, were fixed on the drawings of superheroes and the giant message from Ammon scrawled across his friend's plaster cast: "THANK YOU FOR SAVING OUR DAD, UNCLE RONNIE!!"

Ronnie followed his gaze and scoffed, massaging Brandon's shoulder. "Ah, I didn't save you, B. You saved _yourself._ I don't know how you did it, I guess we'll never know, but you climbed up that fucking cliff and walked all the way back to me, with all of...this," he said, waving his hand vaguely at Brandon. "Your head split open, your arm supremely fucked, and no pain meds or nothing! You might not remember what happened up there, but I do. _I'm_ not Superman, _you_ are. Extra badass Superman; he wishes he was half as incredible as you are."

Brandon smiled weakly at that, but Ronnie could tell he didn't believe him, and it broke his heart. "Hey,_ really,_ Bran. You know I'd never lie to you, you _know._ Look at me, please?" His tone was beseeching, his voice quiet and tight with emotion. Brandon raised his head and looked into his eyes for a brief second, and Ronnie gently held Brandon's chin in place, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "Bran, if I'd fallen down that cliff instead of you, I think I'd have just given up and laid there and died. You're so much stronger than I am, B."

"Did I...I - I r-really...walked all that way?" Brandon asked hesitantly after a long, silent moment, looking down at his traitorous legs.

"You really, really did, Brandon."

A quiet knock at the door startled them both, and they looked up in unison to see a tall man with dark blonde hair, a blue backpack on his shoulders and a long, faded black duffel bag in his arms. A short woman with shoulder-length brown hair stood just behind him. "Hi, my name is Ryan, and this is Bess, my colleague. I hate to interrupt, but it's time for Brandon's physical therapy."

"That's my cue to leave you alone so you can kick some ass, Bran," Ronnie joked, winking at him. He leaned over and kissed his friend's cheek softly, feeling the familiar upturn of his face as Brandon smiled in response. "See you later, little brother."

Ronnie reached for his crutches and heaved himself wearily to his feet, then stumped out of the room, followed by Mandy. Ryan dropped his bags in the corner of the room with a grunt, the duffel bag's contents clattering quietly upon impact. "Brandon, Bess is gonna help us with our first task, if that's alright." Brandon nodded and smiled shyly at the new therapist.

"No cane today, Brandon - you were more unsteady _with_ it yesterday. I think it's just one more thing that you have to pay attention to, so it wasn't really helping, and I don't think you need it, anyway."

"Oh!" Surprise was evident in Brandon's voice as he watched the therapist unzip the duffel and remove a contraption made of black plastic and shiny silver metal bars. He unfolded it, locking various pieces into place.

"Brandon, how tall are you?" Ryan asked quietly, looking up at him.

"Um...5'9"."

"Excellent, thank you," he smiled, adjusting the height of the bars. "Now, Mandy mentioned that you weren't feeling so great today, so let me know if you want to take a break or stop completely, alright? I'll try to give you some nice, long breaks myself."

Brandon nodded, watching as Ryan crouched next to his backpack and removed a folder of papers and a Ziploc bag filled with various small items, then unfolded the wheelchair that sat in the corner of the room, brought it over to him and locked the wheels.

"Alright, Brandon, do you think you can get into the chair again?"

Brandon turned, his legs hanging over the side of the bed, and gripped the edge with his right hand as he stood, slowly straightening, Bess at the ready next to him. The chair had been placed slightly farther away than the previous session, and he would need to take a step in order to reach it. "Do you want me to help, or do you want me to just be ready in case you need it?" Bess asked quietly, watching as he hesitated, looking between his feet and the chair, obviously wary.

"I can...I can do it," Brandon said tentatively, biting his lip uncertainly. Nearly a full minute passed while he stood, swaying slightly; the small space seemed as impassable as a canyon. Finally, he raised his right foot and took a jerky step forward, then another with his left. Behind him, Bess stood with her hands hovering just behind his hips, ready to swoop in as needed, and she exchanged smiles with Ryan as Brandon carefully turned around, gripped the arm of the wheelchair and nearly fell into the seat.

"Brandon, that was _so_ good! That's your first step without any help at all! You passed the first test with flying colors!" Ryan was ecstatic, grinning from ear to ear, and Brandon returned the smile, relief written across his face. "I have a little balance test for you, over here - " Ryan gestured to a black foam mat he had laid out. "It's three different stances that I'm going to ask you to try to hold for twenty seconds each, with your eyes closed. I'll describe what I want you to do as we go, and show you before I ask you to imitate me. Bess will be there to help you get into the right position, and help if you lose your balance. I'll be counting how many times you move out of the position, like if you open your eyes or move your foot. Does all that make sense?"

Brandon nodded, fidgeting nervously as he sat in the wheelchair.

"First we're just gonna do this on the regular floor, nice and flat, and then we're going to repeat it on the foam. It should only take a few minutes but I'm going to give you a good break before we switch to the foam, okay?"

Again, Brandon nodded, eyeing the foam mat.

"The first stance is standing with your feet together, touching, like this - you will be standing with your hands on your hips with your eyes closed. You should try to stay in that position for the entire twenty seconds. I'll be counting the number of times you move out of this position. If you do move out of the testing stance, don't worry, just open your eyes, regain your balance, get back into the testing position, and close your eyes again. Okay? Can you please stand up, Brandon? Bess will move the chair out of the way."

Bracing himself against the wheelchair, Brandon rose to his feet and Bess removed the chair. "Perfect, Brandon. When you're ready, please stand with your feet touching, your hands on your hips, eyes closed."

The first twenty seconds passed with only a couple of errors, but as they moved through the positions, first on hard floor and then repeated on the foam, Brandon wobbled more and more frequently. He lost his balance completely several times, swiftly assisted by Bess. By the time they finished, Brandon's legs were shaking as he sank back into the wheelchair to rest.

"That was great, Brandon! Very, very good. Bess, you can leave us now - thanks for your help. We're going to take a break and then I want to see how you fare on these parallel bars, if you're feeling up to it. Do you want to continue, or would you like to just stop for the day and rest?

Brandon, sprawled in the chair by the parallel bars, shook his head. "I want to...take a - a b-break."

"Of course, just let me know when you feel ready, okay?"

Nearly twenty minutes later, Brandon waved his hand to catch Ryan's attention and rose shakily to his feet, unprompted, grabbing the bar in front of him for support.

"Awesome, Brandon. This will be a little tricky because you can only use one arm, so I'll be behind you to assist you, okay? Can you move in between the bars?

Brandon did so, and Ryan first asked him to shift his weight back and forth between his legs, one in front of the other, while he watched closely for a few minutes. "Very good! Can you try again, but this time try not to touch the bar? You can kind of hover over it and touch it if you need to." With less support, he was more unsteady, frequently touching or grabbing the bar to regain his balance, Ryan's hand gently grasping his left bicep to provide help.

Abruptly, Brandon froze. The change was so quick that it almost resembled a robot's malfunction as he swayed dramatically where he stood, eyes unfocused and his face suddenly ghostly pale. Ryan seized his hips firmly to steady him, hooking the wheelchair with his foot and bringing it close.

"Alright, that's enough," he said softly, easing Brandon into the chair and then wheeling it to the bed once more. After pressing the nurse call button, Ryan had to nearly lift Brandon into the bed, he was so dazed and weak.

"You did _awesome,_ Brandon, great work, really! Take it easy." Brandon only blinked blearily at the therapist as Ryan adjusted his bedding, clearly dizzy and faint.

"You called - ahhh, look what you've done to him! You overdid it," a raven-haired nurse scolded as she swept into the room and shooed Ryan away from the bed impatiently. "Go away, leave him alone," she teased as she reconnected Brandon's IV and readied a bag of fluids. "Go find some other poor soul to torture, leave my patient alone!"

"Okay, okay," Ryan muttered, chuckling as he disassembled and packed up the equipment and gathered his bags. "But he took his first steps all by himself today!"

"You won't impress me until he's walking down the hall, Mr. Ramsey," the nurse snapped, softening the bite of her response with a wink.

"Fine, I'll go tell his family then - maybe _they'll_ appreciate me," Ryan retorted as he walked briskly out the door, grinning all the way down the hall.


	27. Chapter 27

_ Is somone...is someone calling me?_ A gentle shaking of his shoulder roused Brandon, and he struggled to open his eyes, straining to identify the shadowy figure in front of him in the darkness.

"Honey, are you awake? Can you hear me?"

"Mmmm." He suddenly became aware of the peculiar, uniquely disconcerting sensation of burning alive and freezing to death simultaneously. The familiar pounding in his head had sharpened to a harsh, stabbing pain that caused his stomach to roil unpleasantly. "I don't feel...I don't..."

"I know, honey. I need you to answer some questions for me. Do you know your name?"

"Um...B-Brandon..."

"Do you know what month and year it is?"

"...oh...no."

"Do you know where you are?"

"........no...where?"

"In a hospital, honey, Saint Luke's hospital. Can you tell me if your neck hurts?"

"...yes. Yes."

"Thank you, Mr. Flowers. You can go back to sleep now, it's alright."

For a few moments, he was conscious of the woman bustling around him and gentle touches here and there, and then..._nothing._

\- - - - -

"Mrs. Flowers? A word, please?" Just returning from breakfast in the hospital cafeteria, Tana left her children with Olivia and Ronnie and followed the doctor, butterflies stirring in her stomach.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't remember your name," she said to the back of his white coat, rubbing her tired eyes as she walked through the empty corridor after him. The doctor stopped and turned to face her, contrite.

"Dr. Johnston, your husband's neurologist. I should have introduced myself again, I'm sorry, I know you've met a lot of people in the last few days."

Dr. Johnston smoothed imaginary wrinkles in his lab coat nervously. "Mrs. Flowers, unfortunately, we believe your husband has developed bacterial meningitis. It's a common complication of a basilar skull fracture in particular. His nurse noticed a return of his fever last night, a fairly high fever in a very short amount of time. Brandon had regressed cognitively; he was less responsive and less oriented than he had been early yesterday. He knew his name, but not where he was or the date and he complained of a sore and stiff neck.

"Unfortunately, many of the symptoms are virtually identical to a traumatic brain injury, but we have taken blood samples, performed a lumbar puncture and started him on another course of antibiotics and steroids to begin combating the meningitis as quickly as possible. We should have the diagnosis confirmed in a few hours. We are optimistic, as we were able to catch it very early on, and he was already being treated for the infection in his shoulder, which may reduce the severity. However, it is a very serious disease nonetheless."

Tana felt as though the ground had crumbled away beneath her feet for the second time in a week. "Meningitis..._bacterial_ meningitis? But that's...that's really bad, that's really serious...and he's already _so_ weak, oh God...how did he get it?"

"People with basilar fractures are the most vulnerable population. Your husband had a small leak of cerebrospinal fluid from the fracture, present in the blood in his ears, when he was admitted. Although it resolved itself, that may have been the cause of the infection."

"Oh. Oh my God." Tana could feel her knees shaking, knocking together, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe, even to think. A grey cloud seemed to descend in front of her, obscuring her vision. "Is he...is he..._please_ tell me he's going to be okay."

"As I said, we are optimistic and we're being very aggressive with treatment. We will give you more information as we know it. Would you like me to inform the rest of your group?"

"Please...I couldn't."

"Of course, Mrs. Flowers, and I am sorry. I promise that we are doing everything that we can."

Dr. Johnston briskly walked away, back to the waiting room, leaving Tana stunned in his wake. Left alone, the strength disappeared from her legs all at once and she slid down the wall to the white floor of the hospital hallway. _God, why? Brandon doesn't deserve this._ She hugged her legs tightly and wept into her knees - great, heaving sobs, as if the world were falling apart around her.

\- - - - -

Stunned silence.

Every occupant of the waiting room was struck dumb, lost in their own thoughts. Just as things had been looking up, he had to come down with _meningitis_ of all things. Brandon's children weren't sure what the diagnosis meant, but they felt the room sink when the doctor made his announcement and decided to go find their mother, wanting to check on her.

_Brandon, you better not...God, Bran you have to pull through. You're not allowed to...no._ Ronnie was startled out of his gloomy ruminations by the insistent buzz of his cell phone. He fished it out of his pocket, nearly dropping it as he held it to his ear in his shaking, sweaty fingers.

"Dave?"

"Ronnie, what the fuck is going on? Mark just sent me this post about indefinite postponing of The Killers' tour, what the fuck?"

"Oh my God...no one told you guys?" Ronnie snapped his fingers in the air, trying to catch one of their managers, Jeremy or Robert, across the room. "Hey! What the fuck, it's been days! Nobody told Mark and Dave anything?"

Glassy, guilty expressions were all the answer he needed. "What the _fuck?_ What the fucking hell is wrong with you guys? Were you just gonna wait for Brandon to kick the fucking bucket?" There was a sharp intake of breath on the other line. It occurred to Ronnie - too late - that there weren't many worse ways he could have broken the news to one of their oldest friends.

"I - God, Dave, I'm sorry. Um...I'll call you back and do a three-way call with you and Mark, I really don't wanna explain this more than once."

With Mark and Dave both on the phone call, Ronnie took a deep breath, drumming his fingers nervously against the plaster cast covering his leg. "I'm so sorry no one told you guys anything, it's been...it's been fucking nuts the last few days. Um...so, like...six days ago, I guess, Brandon and I went for a hike in the mountains here in Missouri. A couple of hours into it, I stepped on a rock wrong and broke my ankle, like a fucking dumbass. If I hadn't..." Ronnie sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand.

"Anyway...Brandon helped me move farther up the mountain to this big rock so I could rest, but his phone wouldn't work to call for help. I had dropped mine when I fell, so he went back down the mountain to find it and somehow...well, he fell off the fucking cliff."

The only sounds on the other lines were shaky breathing and a whispered 'Oh my God," from someone. "He's a fucking klutz and I will personally chain him to the fucking couch from now on. But, um...when he fell, Brandon hit his head and his back on a rock. He broke three ribs, and he broke his shoulder blade bad enough that they had to do surgery, it...it broke through his skin and it was just sticking out of his back, it was horrible."

Ronnie took a deep, shuddering breath and covered his face with his hand for a moment, collecting himself. "He, um...he's got a fractured skull, that's definitely the worst bit. He's got a traumatic brain injury and they say they have no way of knowing what's permanent and what's temporary, or like..._how_ temporary, things could go away in weeks or...years, I guess.

"He has a hard time talking, he's pretty slow and he can't find the words he wants sometimes. He's a lot more emotional and they said it usually causes crazy emotional issues, depression and anger issues and anxiety and shit...like he needs more of that. But like...he remembers what it was like before the accident and he's aware that he's different and it really fucks him up."

"Um... it's a whole laundry list. His memory isn't great, like he remembers everything before the accident but maybe not what happened half an hour ago. He can't handle loud noises or bright lights anymore, so I don't know if the band will even exist after this, I don't see how he'd be able to handle the shows. He gets these horrible headaches. Um...his attention span is just fucked, because it like - it literally hurts his brain to pay attention to things right now. And his balance is really fucked up, so he has a hard time walking, like he has to think about it, about every single thing he wants his body to do. On the mountain, he was walking like a drunk baby deer or something, tripping all over the place. His physical therapist dropped by yesterday and I guess he's just started walking on his own now, so that's really good at least.

"But, um...one of his doctors just told us that they think he has meningitis - fucking _bacterial_ meningitis - now, too. So, um...well, Brandon's not doing so good, guys. And I'm so, so sorry that no one told before now and you had to find out from our fucking post cancelling the tour, that's _so_ fucked up and...I'm sorry."

There was silence now on the other end of the phone. "Fucking hell," someone finally breathed - probably Dave, Ronnie guessed.

"Yeah, that's pretty much my reaction, too."

"Can we...is it okay if we come visit?" Definitely Mark, that time.

"Yeah, of course, you're all his family too. He's...they've sedated him with the meningitis because I guess it helps with the swelling in his brain but I'd like to see you guys, anyway. We're at Saint Luke's hospital in Kansas City."

"Booking my plane ticket now," said Dave. "And Ronnie? Thanks for telling us."

"Yeah, no problem," Ronnie sighed. Hanging up the call, he leaned his head back into the cool metal of his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. _Bran, you better pull through this or I'll kill you myself._


	28. Chapter 28

The next four days crawled by with incremental updates from Brandon's doctors as they confirmed the diagnosis, switched to more targeted antibiotics, and waited. By the end of the fourth day, finally, his fever had dissipated and the group in the waiting room breathed a sigh of relief as one, Mark and Dave now sitting vigil next to Ronnie as well. The inflammation in his brain had largely returned to pre-infection levels, the remaining swelling attributed to the injury rather than meningitis, and they had decided that it was safe to stop the sedation.

"He should be awake tomorrow morning when you guys arrive, but we'll be doing assessments to see if there's been any lingering effect of the meningitis for the first hour or so, and it's possible that he'll be wiped out afterwards and need to sleep. We got him through the worst of it, but meningitis is really serious and he'll be feeling the drain for a while. We'll let you guys know when he's ready for visitors again," Mandy explained quietly, her red hair frizzy and rebellious, falling out of her ponytail and framing her face.

"Do you think - do you think it caused any more damage?" Ronnie asked, hesitant.

Mandy shrugged, running a hand through her hair. "We'll just have to compare these results to the ones we got when he cleared the amnesia stage. I don't know, I'm sorry. Go home, get some rest."

As a group, they went out to dinner, Dave insisting on taking the bill - "You guys have been dealing with this shit for ages, please, I've got it!" - and stumbled back to their hotel rooms once more, exhausted. Dave and Mark lingered outside Ronnie's room as Olivia slipped inside, shoulders slumped in fatigue. "Ron, can we talk?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course." Ronnie turned and led the way to the small lounge by the elevators with a pair of navy leather sofas, collapsing into one and blinking wearily at his bandmates.

"Ronnie, what are we...if Brandon can't handle loud noises or bright lights, the band is effectively _over_...isn't it?" Dave was whispering, eyes wide, as though afraid to even say the words aloud.

Ronnie took a deep breath and let it out in a long, heavy sigh. "I...maybe? I hope that might just be temporary, the doctors said basically any or even all of the effects could be temporary, maybe they'll go away in a few months or something. Some people recover almost completely in a year or two. But the doctors didn't want to tell Brandon that yet. They didn't want him to get his hopes up, you know? He's fully aware of what's going on and they really have no idea what's going to happen, or how bad it is. It would be even worse than it is now if he was expecting to go back to normal, and then he didn't...but if he couldn't do the band anymore...God, he'd be _crushed._ He wouldn't take it well, we know that for sure."

Mark hummed in agreement. "We got a glimpse of that a couple years ago trying to write the last album, and he _knew_ that was just temporary writer's block."

Ronnie rubbed his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, and that was before he had actual brain damage that fucks up his emotions and everything, too. Ugh...oh, I don't know, I don't know what to do. It would be so ugly if Brandon had to quit the band, it's like his whole life...but, I mean, he can't even handle regular light levels, like this, or the fucking sunlight. He definitely couldn't deal with the stage lights right now, or all the noise, or all the people, all the things going on. He got overwhelmed just talking with his kids the other day, the nurse actually came to apologize to Tana, said it was a mistake to let all three see him at once. He couldn't handle it more than a couple of minutes. It literally hurt his brain, it's too much for him to pay attention to. I just...I don't know, guys. It better just all be temporary, that's all I can say."

"Damn. That's rough, poor guy - can't even talk to his kids," Dave murmured.

"Yeah, I know..." Ronnie laughed suddenly, a great, sharp-edged bark of bitter laughter. "You know, I wanted to go on that fucking hike to get _rid_ of some stress, and look what we've ended up with. Look what I did to him," Ronnie whispered, shaking his head ruefully.

"Come on, Ron, it's not your fault," Mark countered softly.

"Ah, then who's fault is it? I'm the one who took him out hiking alone, I'm the dumbass who broke my ankle and let Brandon go off on his own, back to a part of the mountain that I _knew_ was dangerous..."

Ronnie pounded the arm of the sofa with his fist, blinking his watery eyes rapidly. "I _did_ this to him, man. I might've just taken the fucking band away from him, practically his whole fucking life. I might as well have pushed him off the fucking cliff myself..." Ronnie trailed off, his eyes haunted, a million miles away as he remembered the countless hellish hours trapped on the mountain, convinced his best friend was dying.

Dave rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Ron, don't be stupid. He was all stressed out and he loves hiking, doing shit like that, you were just trying to help! And what else were you guys supposed to do? He wasn't just gonna sit there on the fucking mountain and twiddle his fucking thumbs and _hope_ someone would come find you. I bet if you hadn't brought up your phone, he probably would've thought of it himself, and if you'd tried to tell him not to go find it, do you really think he would've listened to you?"

"EXACTLY! I broke my fucking ankle and he didn't have a _choice,_ Dave!" Ronnie erupted, so loudly that his cracking voice echoed through the hotel. Several nearby doors squeaked open in the ensuing silence, the occupants peeking out in irritation and curiosity at the outburst.

Ronnie shook his head violently and jumped to his feet, falling back to the sofa with a hiss of pain - he had forgotten about his ankle. He fumbled with his crutches, aggravated, and rose to his feet again, stumping angrily through the lounge. "Whatever, I'm going to bed. 'Night."

Mark watched him go, then spoke quietly as Ronnie turned the corner. "Wow, Dave, look at all the drama we've been missing out on."

"Yeah, I wanna go back to San Diego already," Dave said wryly, staring down the hall after his bandmate. "I've had enough."

\- - - - -

After a late start caused by a poor night's sleep, Ronnie and Olivia returned to the hospital at half past ten in the morning, the last of the stragglers to trickle into the packed waiting room. Tana only shrugged at him as he sat down. "Nothing yet," she whispered, absently stroking Gunnar's hair as he sat beside her, playing Uno with his brothers.

Nearly half an hour passed before Mandy appeared, smiling brightly. "I have good news! Mr. Flowers actually asked for breakfast this morning, and even managed to eat some of his scrambled eggs!"

Scattered applause greeted this announcement, and when the noise had quieted, she continued. "The not-so-great news is that he was too tired for the doctors to complete all of the assessments we need. We'll have to finish next time he wakes up so that we can start planning his rehabilitation, and then he can have visitors again. Should be sometime this evening, or maybe tomorrow morning, guys."

Quiet murmurs filled the room for a moment while Mandy approached Tana and bent down, lowering her voice. "Mrs. Flowers, I just wanted you to know he was absolutely _determined_ to eat something this morning. It took him almost twenty minutes to eat his eggs because he was shaking so bad, but he did it! It's a really good sign, actually, for his recovery - he's very motivated! That's a big part of the challenge, keeping him motivated and keeping his spirits up."

The nurse smiled at Tana and her children once more, then turned and bustled back into the hallway to another patient's room, leaving the crowded room buzzing with a sense of optimism. Things were looking up.


	29. Chapter 29

The trills and chirrups of cheerful songbirds heralded the arrival of Ronnie and his bandmates and Tana and the kids at the hospital the next morning. As they made their way through the halls and passed Brandon's room, they met Mandy just as she emerged from the darkened room, closing the door behind her and smiling to herself.

"Oh, perfect timing, we just finished up a few minutes ago! Mr. Vannucci, he's asking to see you!"

Before Ronnie could respond, his friend's muffled voice could be heard from within, shaky as usual, but clearly in good spirits: "M-Mandy, is that Ronnie? Hi, Ron! I love you!"

Ronnie snorted, biting back a smile. "Hi, Bran, I love you too," he called back, grinning even more broadly at the sound of his best friend's beloved mousy giggle while Brandon's children stifled their own giggles behind him. "Can I...?" he asked, gesturing to the door.

"Oh, of course! He's in a _really_ good mood right now, if you can't tell!" The nurse opened the door once more and ushered him inside, following behind him to take her usual place and supervise.

A partially eaten plate of scrambled eggs lay on the bed tray against the wall and Ronnie beamed at the sight as he sat at his friend's bedside. "Hey, breakfast two days in a row, Brandon, look at you - and your _face!_ You shaved!" he exclaimed, rubbing his own beard in sympathy for the lost facial hair.

Brandon smiled ruefully, touching his face - the right side bore several small, fresh nicks and cuts among the fading bruises. "N-not really, I tried. I had t-to ask the - the...um...I had to ask the...oh, Mandy, w-what was he?"

"The occupational therapist, Mr. Flowers," the nurse supplied helpfully, and Ronnie grinned at the obvious relief that crossed Brandon's face as she filled in the blank.

"Th-thank you, the _th-therapist._ I had to...I had to ask him...ask him to help, I w-wasn't doing a g-good job," he said, with a touch of sadness as he regarded his trembling hand resting on the grey blanket.

"Well, _I_ think you did a great job, B. Practice makes perfect, right? You're good at that."

Brandon smiled gratefully at Ronnie, who had a sudden thought and laughed out loud - "Brandon, do you want me to bring in your bag of hair from your hotel room so you can keep the tradition alive?"

His friend stared at him, wide-eyed for a moment, and Ronnie wondered briefly if he had forgotten about the odd ritual he had maintained for over a decade - until suddenly he burst out in an uncontrolled, helpless fit of laughter, his hand pressing firmly against his chest.

"Mandy - n-n-no, I - I don't think Mandy would - s-she w-wouldn't like that," he gasped between his giggles, the most precious, ridiculous, wonderful sound to ever grace Ronnie's ears.

"Awww, Mandy, you wouldn't keep him from his longest-running hobby, would you?" Ronnie wheedled, winking at the nurse who looked absolutely baffled as she watched them.

"Uh, I mean...hobbies are wonderful, of course, but...um, _a bag of hair?_ Did I hear that right?"

"Oh yeah! It's horrific, isn't it, Brandon?"

Brandon just shook his head, finally regaining control of himself. "I - don't - d-don't m-m-make me laugh, Ron, it hurts," he gasped, rolling his shoulder and clutching his chest, his smile fading, little lines of pain replacing the crinkles of laughter around his eyes.

Ronnie sobered immediately, guilt settling heavy in his gut like a lead balloon. "Oh, Bran, of course, I'm sorry - your ribs! I'm _sorry,_ I'm so stupid!"

Brandon's face softened and he looked at him in silence for a long moment, studying him as Ronnie squirmed uncomfortably. Brandon opened his mouth, then hesitated and shut it again. He closed his eyes briefly and brought his hand up to rub the back of his head, whispering, "You - Ron, are you...are you...o-okay?"

As Brandon struggled to ask the question, Ronnie shuddered, suddenly transported back to a frigid, rainy mountainside, with his half-dead best friend swaying perilously in front of him, yet asking: _"You...o-okay?"_

"Ronnie? R-Ronnie?! Are you...okay?"

The genuine concern in Brandon's voice, bordering on panic, brought Ronnie crashing back to the present. He was startled to realize that the rain he had felt on his face was real; he was crying. No one had actually asked him _that_ question since that ill-fated hike - no one except Brandon, who was probably permanently disabled now because -

"Brandon, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's all my fault, everything! I'm sorry! I'm so, so fucking sorry!"

Brandon's eyes widened at the unexpected outburst and he froze, motionless for a heartbeat. A moment later, he held out his good arm without hesitation, a wordless invitation, and Ronnie found himself melting into his chest, weeping. "I'm sorry, I-I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry, Bran! You never would've gotten hurt if I hadn't fallen, I'm sorry! I never should've let you go off alone, _never,_ I'm sorry!"

Brandon was quiet for a while, just rubbing Ronnie's back in small circles. As Ronnie's tearful apology finally subsided and he rested his head lightly on his friend's chest, Brandon spoke gently. Each word was very carefully and deliberately pronounced, as though he had been rehearsing the sentences in his head, trying not to mess up. The reverberations of his soft voice echoed in Ronnie's head like drums. "R-Ronnie, it's not - it's not your...it's not your fault. It could never...it could never _be_ your fault. It's _mine."_

Something inside Ronnie snapped and he exploded, a fiery ball of fury consuming his heart. He pulled away from Brandon, suddenly livid and crazed. "How the _fuck_ do you know, Brandon? You don't remember a fucking thing, you barely know your own fucking _name!"_

Brandon flinched back violently, leaning away from Ronnie as if he'd been slapped, his eyes impossibly wide and childlike in their shock, shimmering with tears. A horrible, sickening, shameful tidal wave of guilt overcame Ronnie, and he wished desperately that he could take his words back, absolutely disgusted with himself.

"Shit, Bran, I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry - " Ronnie reached out, trying to touch his hand in apology, but Brandon slapped him away. To the drummer's horror, tears began to cascade down his friend's face, thick and fast, hurt and betrayal clear in his hazel eyes.

"G-g-get out. Just - just - just g-get out."

"Bran, I'm - "

_"Please."_ His voice was hoarse and choked with tears, nearly unrecognizable.

"Mr. Vannucci, you really should go," Mandy spoke up from her place against the bathroom wall, her voice uncharacteristically hard.

"No! No, Bran, please, I'm _so - "_

"Mr. Vannucci, I _will_ call security. You're upsetting my patient. You have five seconds."

"But I - " Ronnie tore his eyes away from Brandon's agonized, tear-stained face and glanced at the nurse, whose finger rested threateningly just above a discreet red button embedded in the wall.

_"Now,_ Mr. Vannucci."

His shoulders sagging in defeat, Ronnie staggered to his feet and hobbled out of the room. He was barely able to handle the crutches with his trembling hands, his good knee shaking like a leaf in a tornado. As he began to make his way back through the hall, he heard hysterical, gut-wrenching sobs from Brandon's room, and the terrible sound shattered his heart inside his chest, a thousand jagged shards stabbing him with every breath.

Dave's eyes widened when Ronnie entered the waiting room, blinking back tears while he made a beeline for his wife. "Ronnie, what the fuck? What happened?"

"I'm the worst friend in the world, that's what fucking happened," Ronnie snapped, venom in his shaky voice as he jerked his head at Olivia. "Liv, can we get out of here for a bit, please?"

"Oh. Well, maybe you'll get lucky and he won't remember anything you said tomorrow?" Dave suggested hopefully, only half joking.

"Shut the fuck up, Dave. Olivia, come on, let's go."

Olivia sat stony-faced, her arms folded across her chest, staring at her husband. When she spoke, her voice was like ice. "Not if you think you can talk to me like that, Ronald. Or are you trying for the worst husband award as well? Take a lap around the hospital, I'm not going anywhere with you if you're going to be an asshole."

"Oh, fuck off, then," Ronnie hissed, fury radiating off of him in blistering waves. He turned abruptly and fled the waiting room, alone. Olivia only raised her eyebrows as she watched him go, unruffled, and an awkward silence filled the room.

"Whoa...I wonder what the hell that was about," Dave whispered as the sound of Ronnie's crutches faded away.

Olivia shook her head, biting her lip. "Not anything good, that's for sure. I'll talk to him later, when he's calmed down. I'm not dealing with _that._ He's been more and more stressed out every day, I think the whole thing is finally hitting him, and...well, Ronnie feels like it's all his fault. I just hope he didn't act like that with Brandon," she murmured, worry lacing her voice. Her forehead creased in concern as she watched the place where her husband had disappeared around the corner.

"Mrs. Flowers?" Mandy's voice floated through the waiting room, unusually high-pitched.

"I think Tana's about to find out," Mark mused darkly as the nurse's ginger head appeared in the doorway and Tana hurried to meet her, leaving the crowded room to lapse into a painful, impenetrable silence.


	30. Chapter 30

Her heart beating wildly against her ribcage in trepidation, Tana stepped out into the hallway with Mandy, noting her pale skin and lips drawn thin in distress. "Mandy, what on Earth..." She trailed off as a faint sound down the hall caught her attention, and her blood ran cold as she put the pieces together: Ronnie, so angry he was practically breathing fire and simultaneously crying about being 'the worst friend'; Mandy, clearly upset...and Brandon, alone in his room, weeping desperately as if his heart had been torn to pieces.

"Oh my God, Mandy, that's _Brandon,_ isn't it? What...what did Ronnie _do?"_ Tana asked in a hushed tone, her eyes wide, perturbed at the apparent seriousness of Ronnie's mistake.

The nurse bit her lip, not meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have let him visit, I don't know...it happened so fast, he just _snapped,_ and he - oh, Mrs. Flowers, I'm so _sorry!_ Mr. Vannucci - _Ronnie,_ he was upset, he was apologizing to Brandon, he feels like he...like the accident was his fault, like it's his fault Brandon was injured. He started crying, like..._really_ crying, and Brandon was trying to make him feel better, he tried to tell Ronnie that it wasn't his fault, and, um..."

Tana could hear her heartbeat pounding inside her skull as the nurse took a deep, shaky breath and then plunged ahead, speaking quickly in a whisper. "Ronnie just snapped, he - he yelled at Brandon, he - he - oh, well, I suppose it's easiest if I just tell you...he said 'How the fuck do you know? You can't remember a fucking thing, you barely even know your own fucking name,' he was _so_ angry with him...and Brandon, Brandon...he didn't take it well," she whispered, eyes wandering down the hall to her patient's room. "He seemed to catch himself almost immediately, he kept apologizing, but - he'd already said it. I had to threaten to call security on Mr. Vannucci to make him leave."

_What?!_ Tana thought she might forget how to breathe, shock boiling the blood in her veins. "He said...he said _what?!_ But I - that's...no way, Ronnie would _never,_ he's got to know what that would do to him, when he's so - so _fragile._ Why would he - they've never - in all their years - _never..."_

She was so rattled she couldn't think straight, tripping through her sentences haphazardly. The soft sounds of her husband's muffled weeping filled her ears, blocking out everything else and bringing hot tears of her own to her stinging eyes. "God, oh my God - _how could he?_ He's been so shaken up by everything already, so upset that he can't do things and he can't remember _why,_ and Ronnie really just...oh, Ronnie, _why?_ And you said it was because Brandon tried to tell him it's not his fault he got hurt? Seriously?"

Mandy nodded, squeezing her lips together tightly, and Tana closed her eyes and tilted her head back toward the florescent lights on the ceiling. "God, Ronnie, I'm going to _kill_ you, I swear," she hissed to the skies through gritted teeth, and then she sighed heavily and counted to ten silently, and then to twenty, trying to compel her wired body to relax. "Well...thanks, Mandy. Is it okay if I...can I visit him? Maybe I could help. Or...do you think we should just leave him alone?"

Mandy shrugged. "I think he's going to be pretty exhausted, but...I don't think leaving him like this is a good idea, either...and I'm hesitant to just subdue him with medicine, I don't think it would really fix...anything. This is - it really cut him deep, Mrs. Flowers. I've seen how close he was with Ronnie, and for him to...yes, I'll let you in, if you want."

On rickety legs, Tana forced herself to close the distance to Brandon's room, sucking in a deep, fortifying breath as Mandy opened the door and slipped inside behind her. Brandon lay curled on his side in the dark room, blankets drawn up over his head like a heartbroken child, his slim body wracked violently with sobs.

"Brandon?" Tana pulled out the chair by the bedside, nearly falling into it as her legs gave out. She carefully tugged the edge of the blanket from his hand and folded it back so she could see his face. He didn't even seem to notice her, crying hysterically into his pillow with his eyes screwed shut, red and swollen.

Slowly, she reached out to touch him, but hesitated, her hand hovering uncertainly over his face. "Brandon?" Gently, Tana stroked his cheek, wet with tears, and jumped as he startled at the touch. His beautiful hazel eyes snapped open and he struggled to sit up, fussing with his IV line. He stared vacantly for a minute, unfocused, as his tears subsided, before finding her face, and then he sighed, a horrible, painfully sad sound. _Oh, Brandon, my love... I'm going to kill Ronnie._ Her stomach curdled, tying itself in knots - what had Ronnie _done_ to him?

"Honey, Ronnie - " She stopped herself as he squeezed his eyes shut again, his face crumbling and wretched. Brandon's head dropped into his chest as though he were trying to shrink himself, whimpering. "He - he...he hates me, T-Tana," he whispered brokenly, choking on the words. "He _h-hates_ me."

"Oh, _honey,_ of course he doesn't!" Tana could feel her heart splintering into a hundred pieces as she carefully wiped away his tears, her desire to strangle Ronnie growing ever stronger with each passing second. "He loves you! You're his friend, his _best_ friend! Ronnie's just...oh, _Brandon_...he's just hurting right now, and you happen to be an easy target. He's scared, baby; I think he's scared that _you're_ gonna hate _him."_

That got his attention - Brandon's eyes cracked open once more, and she shivered at the depths of the confusion and abject despair in them, clouding over their usual light. "Ron - why? W-What did I _do?_ I d-don't remember, I don't remember...my - it's m-my fault - he's mad at m-me because I don't r-remember...d-did I do s-something bad, Tana?"

"No, Brandon, _no!"_ She had to pause for a moment, hobbled by the terrible lump in her throat as she softly caressed his face, careful to avoid the tiny cuts from his attempt at shaving that morning. "You didn't do anything wrong, honey, I _promise."_

He shook his head vehemently, raising his hand to cup the back of his head, wincing. "But - but R-Ronnie's _mad_ at me. I had to do something w-wrong, he's _m-ma - "_ he stopped abruptly and ducked his head in an oddly sharp, swerving motion, his face drawn in pain. Tears glimmered in his foggy hazel eyes again, half-lidded in fatigue. Mandy stepped up behind Tana silently, adjusting a dial on his IV pole. "We should let him rest soon," the nurse whispered in her ear before she faded into the background again.

Tana sighed, biting her lip nervously. _God, this is so hard. I'm not saying the right things._ "He's not mad at you, honey, I think he's just mad at _himself_ and he lashed out at you. You're his _best friend,_ baby...and Ronnie spent two whole days on that mountain, terrified that he was gonna lose you, Brandon, with no one to help you. And he thinks it's his fault that you're hurt, and he doesn't want you to be hurt."

"But - b-but I t-tried to tell him, it's n-not his f-fault! It's mine! And he j-j-just - he just - he _hates_ me, Tana! He's so m-mad...he d-doesn't like me anymore, I kn-know it. I g-got hurt and I'm s-stupid and - and _useless_ and it's all my f-fault and Ron's m-m-mad, he d-d-doesn't l-like m-me anymore," he insisted, his soft voice shaking more than ever, dripping with anguish.

_ "Brandon,_ I - I don't - _you're not stupid!_ He's not - that's not - _God,_ Brandon, I - " She suddenly became aware that she was raising her voice at him in frustration as he flinched and crossed his trembling arm over his head, hand clamped down on the base of his head. His elbow rested on his knees as he tried to cradle his broken skull with his one good arm, creating a barrier between them. His face, the beautiful, beautiful face she loved more than anything, was wan and tired. So..._old._ So _sad._

"Are - are you...are you m-mad at me, t-too? I'm n-no good, I'm s-sorry, I kn-know I m-made you worry...I'm s-s-sorry..." Her heart sank to her feet, stunned at the sheer hopelessness in his quiet voice, something she had never heard from him before. _God, how can he go from so happy just like an hour ago...to this?_

"I'm sorry, honey," she said in a rush, lowering her voice and stroking his arm in apology. "I didn't mean to be so loud, I'm sorry. I'm _not_ mad at you, Brandon. I promise. You didn't do anything wrong, there's no reason for anyone to be mad at you, honey. I _promise."_ He didn't look like he believed her, his weary gaze fixed on the hospital floor, his eyes brimming with tears. Tana sighed, suddenly exhausted herself, running a hand through her blonde hair.

"Brandon, baby, I know Ronnie was horrible to you, he shouldn't have said those things. He was wrong, not you. But he doesn't hate you, he could _never_ hate you. He _loves_ you - so, so much. Sometimes, I think he loves you even more than he loves his wife," she teased, hoping for a glimpse of a smile. Nothing. He was blinking blearily now, his head nodding against his chest, probably not even listening to her. _So much for helping...if anything I think I've only helped him feel worse..._

"Mrs. Flowers, I'm sorry - he needs to rest," Mandy whispered, touching her arm lightly from behind.

"Oh - of course, of course. I love you, Brandon," she whispered standing and leaning down to kiss the top of his head, tousling his dark hair affectionately. "I love you, I love you, I love you - a million times." He looked up at her, a tiny spark in his dull, weary eyes. "L-love you," Brandon replied quietly, watching her retreating back as she followed Mandy into the hallway, and then he succumbed to fitful sleep at last.


	31. Chapter 31

Tears streaming down his face and disappearing into his beard, Ronnie laid his forearm across the seat of the toilet and pressed his forehead into his arm, his chest heaving with sobs, his injured leg laid out straight alongside the toilet. After several hours hiding out in the hospital tramping from floor to floor, he had spent the last few minutes vomiting in the men's bathroom on the hospital's fourth floor, absolutely sick with shame. Every time he closed his eyes, his best friend's shocked, bewildered eyes stared through him, stricken, burning him alive. _What have I done? I'm a monster - a fucking monster._

A soft, rapping knock startled the drummer and he twisted around to see an elderly man with wispy white hair in a green polo shirt and slacks standing in front of the open door to the toilet stall, a cart filled with cleaning supplies just behind him. His eyes wandered from Ronnie's face to the abandoned crutches, lying akimbo on the bathroom floor, spread across his stall and its neighbor. "I'm sorry, son, I've just got to clean the bathroom. Are you okay?" His voice creaked pleasantly with age, reminding Ronnie of his own grandfather.

The simple question, the same one that had triggered the worst mistakes of his life, echoed in his head - _"Ron, are you...are you...o-okay? You...o-okay? You...o-okay?"_ \- and suddenly he was weeping anew in front of the man, this complete stranger. "No," he choked out, covering his face with his hands, turning away from the man and struggling to regain control of himself. "I'm - I'm not okay, I'm an asshole."

"Hmm, I don't think that's really true, son. Do you want to talk about it? Or I could just come back later, if you'd rather...be alone."

Ronnie laughed mirthlessly, scrubbing his face, trying to wipe away the tears. "No - not...not really. My own fucking wife won't have anything to do with me and I just ripped my best friend's heart out, so...there's no one else to talk to, I guess." It suddenly occurred to him that he was being rude and he looked up at the janitor apologetically. "Uh, not that, uh, I don't _want_ to talk to you, I mean. That would be great, actually."

The janitor chuckled, turning to grab a black bucket and a worn mop from his cart. "No problem, son. Name's Mack. So, what did you do that was so bad?" he asked, his back to Ronnie as he added soap to the bucket and filled it in the sink.

Ronnie sighed, leaning back against the stall's wall and closing his eyes - he couldn't bear to see the judgement in the man's eyes. "My best friend and I, we went hiking...I slipped on a rock and broke my ankle a few hours in, like way up the mountain. Brandon got me to this rock to rest and tried to call for help, but his phone didn't have service. I dropped mine when I fell and I let him go back for it to see if it would work...I _knew_ that part of the mountain was dangerous, I shouldn't have let him go..."

Ronnie fell silent for a minute while he tried to swallow the lump that had arisen in his throat, listening to the soft swooshing sounds of Mack's mopping. "He fell off the fucking cliff, Mack. Busted his head open, shattered his shoulder blade bad enough to tear all through his back, broke some ribs...and then somehow he made it back up the cliff and walked all the way back to me...it took him _hours,_ he left before sunset and he came back in the middle of the night, like maybe midnight...when it should have taken like forty five minutes, tops, if he was healthy. But he was trying _so_ fucking hard, he was hurt so bad."

Brandon's return played like a silent horror film through the blackness of his closed eyelids and he forced his eyes open, trying to keep the memory at bay. Sighing, Ronnie picked absently at a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt and tried to calm his breathing.

"He's all fucked up now, he can't walk right and he has the attention span of my dog. It's hard for him to talk and he cries at, like, _everything_ \- he was sensitive before but this is...it's so hard. He can't handle loud noises or bright lights, and...that's our fucking job, Mack. I took his fucking job away from him, and he loves it so much. His life is just his job and his family and I just...I took that away from him when I let him go off on that stupid fucking mountain, Mack.

"And...and when Brandon finally made it back the first thing he said - he asked _me_ if _I_ was okay! I mean, what the _fuck?_ He looked like he had one foot in the grave, and he was sitting there worrying about _me!_ All he cared about was _me,_ like he was so worried about _me_ and he tried so hard to come back to me because he wanted to make sure _I_ was okay, and it's just like..._what the fuck?_ He's fucking falling apart and he wants to know if _I'm_ okay?"

Ronnie swallowed thickly and swiped at his eyes, banishing the tears that threatened to spill over. "I...I yelled at him, I swore at him...and he didn't even react at first, I guess he was too far gone...and then I found my phone in his stuff, but he broke it when he fell, I guess...and I snapped at him _again_ for that...it's only a fucking phone, what's wrong with me? But we couldn't call for help and - and Brandon...he was so, so messed up, Mack, he looked like he was just gonna die any minute. And we didn't even have a fucking _Band-aid,_ and I'm a drummer, not a doctor. I couldn't help him, I couldn't...I couldn't do anything except yell at him, so I _did,_ and I knew I wasn't...I s_houldn't,_ but I kept...I kept doing it."

Tears slipped down his cheeks once more, almost stinging his overly sensitive, reddened skin, irritated by so much crying. "I never - I never even _thanked_ him for getting the phone and trying so hard, almost fucking _killing_ himself, to help me. And then I tried to touch him and look at his head and he kept flinching away from me, like...like he thought I was gonna _hurt_ him because I was angry with him because he broke the fucking phone. He's never...you know, we don't have a _perfect_ relationship, we've had fights and shit, but he's never, ever done that in...like eighteen years."

His wavering voice faltered entirely, and he sat silently for a minute, listening to the oddly comforting sounds of Mack's mopping. When he spoke again, he spoke quickly, trying to force the words out as soon as possible through the tears that threatened to strangle his voice: "And then he wanted to sleep, he kept telling me he was tired and I kept poking him and elbowing him and telling him he couldn't sleep because I didn't want him to just - just never wake up again. And I was fucking _torturing_ him, Mack...I did that for _hours_ literally until the sun rose, and he finally just broke down and started crying, he was _begging_ me to let him sleep, and I just...I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't do it anymore."

"But then when I tried to wake him up again, he wouldn't...he wouldn't wake up, I was yelling at him again, he wouldn't even fucking _twitch_ and I thought I'd fucking killed him, I thought...I thought..."

For several minutes, the only sounds in the empty bathroom were the quiet, rhythmic wooshes of the mop as it swept through the soapy puddles and hysterical, heaving sobs as Ronnie lost the battle with his composure.

"I hit him, I fucking _hit_ him, Mack...and I promised him I'd never hurt him again, I _promised_ and then just now, I just...he asked me if I was okay and I just...I stole the fucking _band_ from him and he's still just worried about me, I just can't...why can't he just hate me? It's what I deserve."

Ronnie took a great, shuddering breath, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall behind him. "Brandon can't remember what happened and he's so upset by it and he was only trying to _help_ me, he told me it wasn't my fault he got hurt but it _is,_ it's all my fault, and I just fucking _lost_ it. I fucking threw it in his face, I - I told him he has no right to tell me it's not my fault because he doesn't fucking remember anything and I told him - I told him he barely knows his own name! What kind of person _does_ something like that, Mack? He was only trying to help me and I fucking stabbed him in the heart.

"He's my best friend, my little brother, and he hurt his fucking_ brain_ trying to fucking help _me,_ he almost killed himself trying and I did something that...heartless. What the fuck is wrong with me, Mack? What's wrong with me? I - God, his _face_...why the fuck did I say that? I knew what it would do to him but I couldn't - I couldn't stop myself, I - it was so _cruel,_ how could I - I'm a monster, Mack, a fucking monster. I _promised_ him I'd never hurt him again - I _promised,_ but that's all I _do,_ I just keep hurting him, I keep fucking up and tearing him to shreds. I'm a _monster,_ Mack."

Ronnie suddenly became aware that the mopping had stopped, and opened his eyes, surprised to find Mack sitting cross-legged outside the toilet stall, watching him.

The janitor sighed, rubbing his scruffy chin. "Sounds like you boys have both been through hell, hm? Except you actually remember all of it. Almost losing someone like that, part of your family...that's really traumatic. You can't discount that. Look...you probably won't like this, but I think you need to start being kinder to yourself. You're beating yourself up over something that no one except you knows - your friend doesn't even remember how you reacted out there, right? He doesn't know that you yelled at him, he doesn't know that you slapped him."

Mack paused, buffing away a spot on the stall door with a cloth. "You've got to start looking at yourself through Brandon's eyes. All he knows is that you kept him safe and you got him help, and you kept him _alive._ You said he's got a family, a wife and kids probably? I'm sure he'd rather be alive than dead. He's probably just trying to pay you back for that in the only way he can, right? He just wants to return the favor, and you said he can't do all the things he used to be able to do, or at least can't do them very well...but he can still try to look out for you. He can still be your friend, if you'll only let him."

Ronnie blinked, dumbstruck, and the janitor smiled toothily. "See? He's only trying to hold onto what he still has...and that's _you._ You've got to try looking at it like that. And you can start by apologizing to whoever you hurt and then trying to start over."

Ronnie snorted, smiling wryly at Mack. "You make it sound so easy."

The janitor grinned. "It is, it just doesn't look that way when you're stuck in the middle of it. Now get out of here and go work on making things right - let me do my _real_ job. I'm not a therapist, you know."

"Well, maybe you should be," Ronnie joked, reached for his crutches and supporting himself on the toilet stall as he struggled to his feet. "But really, Mack, thank you. I needed to hear that, I think."

The janitor patted Ronnie's shoulder as he passed him and made his way carefully to the door. "You're welcome, son. Go make it right."


	32. Chapter 32

"Oh my God, _Ronnie!_ I've been worried sick! It's been like twelve _hours,_ Ronnie, I meant for you to take like an hour, not _twelve_ of them! I had no idea where you went, I couldn't find you, I couldn't _call_ you, I didn't know if you were _okay_ \- we've got to get you and Brandon new phones before they let him out of here, we forgot but this is not okay, we need to be able to contact you guys!"

Hoarse and strained, Olivia's anxious tirade had started before she had even seen his face, as soon as she heard the familiar sound of his crutches squeaking on the hospital floor as he came toward the waiting room, now empty save for his wife and Tana. At the far side of the room, the kids were cuddled in their chairs, tangled around each other in sleep. As he approached her, his back hunched in shame, he looked up at his wife and her face softened as she inspected his own, reddened and swollen with tears.

"Honey, are you okay?"

Ronnie ignored the question and merely snorted half-heartedly at Olivia as he eased his weary body into a chair next to her, Tana sitting across from them, stony-faced.

"I'm sorry I made you worry," he whispered, staring at his knees, his voice raw and scratchy from all the tears shed that day.

"That's really the least of your problems, Ronnie, I can handle it...but how could you do that to Brandon? He's absolutely convinced that you hate him, you know, that you're _angry_ with him because he's hurt...after everything that you both have been through, how could you possibly say something that...that _hateful?"_ Olivia kept her volume low, trying not to wake the sleeping children, but her voice trembled with emotion, and her jaw was tightly clenched as she waited for his response.

"I know. I'm a dick, a horrible, horrible person, I'm sorry. I don't have any excuses." A soft ringing filled his ears and his stomach roiled, sick with guilt once again. He felt almost disembodied, as though he were watching himself from somewhere...outside.

Tana spoke up now, her voice seething, dripping with anger. Ronnie couldn't bear to look at her, but nonetheless he could feel her eyes like burning coals in his heart. "Ronnie, I don't think you know. I don't think you have _any_ idea. _Nothing_ I said made any difference to him, nothing - he's just...it's like you _broke_ him, Ronnie. You're one of the most important people in his life, he trusts you completely, without question, and you just ripped his head off out of nowhere, when all he was trying to do is make_ your_ sorry ass feel better."

Tana closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and suddenly she deflated, from tense and angry like a coiled cobra, to sad and tired, worry lines suddenly standing out on her face in sharp relief. "I mean...he thinks you _hate_ him, Ronnie, he told me that you're angry with him because he got hurt and he's _useless_ now. He just kept asking what he had done wrong, because he must have done something horrible to make you so mad at him. How could you _do_ that to him, Ronnie? I - I just...I don't _understand,_ Ronnie. Help me understand. _Please."_

Ronnie couldn't speak for a long while, staring at a crack in a floor tile while he fought the lump invading his throat, his chin trembling as he fought to maintain his composure. _No more crying, I've done enough of that._ He stared at the cracked tile, unable to bear looking at either of their faces. He opened his mouth to speak and then crumbled, his face in his hands, tears leaking out from between his fingers as his chest heaved with each breath. He could feel Olivia's hand on his knee, squeezing gently, as he forced himself to pull together, roughly banishing his tears.

Hands clasped together in his lap, finally, he began, his voice halting and uncharacteristically quiet, eyes fixed on his feet. "When Brandon left, I didn't...I didn't really think anything of it until after he'd been gone for a while. It shouldn't have taken that long. He left just before sunset. And then the sun disappeared, and he still wasn't back. It started _raining,_ and he still wasn't back. It was _night,_ and he still wasn't back. The rain stopped, and _he still wasn't back._

"I waited for hours and hours and if I could have gone after him, I would have, but...all I could do was sit there and wait, and the things that were going through my head...Liv, it was awful. I _told_ him to go find my phone. There was absolutely no reason that Brandon would've taken that long to come back if...if he could help it. And I started thinking...maybe he won't come back at all, maybe he - maybe he's...and I_ did_ that to him, I _told_ him to do it, I _let_ him go back there when I _knew_ that spot wasn't safe. I _knew_ it was dangerous. And I let him go. I should have told him not to, I should have fucking tied him down or something...but I just let him go. I didn't even say _goodbye."_

His voice broke and he closed his eyes briefly, sighing. In the corner, Brandon's children only pretended to be asleep, holding hands as they listened to the story of their dad's accident for the first time. "And then I crawled away from the rock that he left me at so I could get out of the rain, and finally, he came back. I could hear him, calling for me by the rock, but he sounded so..._lost._ Like...like the only thing he knew right then was my name, and that I _should_ have been right there, and I _wasn't_...like he didn't know what to do, like he didn't know why he was even _alive_ if he couldn't find me.

"He heard me trying to call back to him, and he was trying to come to me, but...honestly, it's a wonder he made it all the way back up that mountain without just...walking straight off the side of the cliff again. I don't know how he managed to not...you know - he was walking like he was drunk, I mean absolutely fucking hammered...but obviously, he wasn't. And that was my first clue that he was... something was wrong. He was walking so...jerky, like he had to force his legs to move, like he didn't know when his feet were gonna hit the ground, like it was a surprise every time. It looked like he was trying to walk underwater, like a puppet or something. He kept swerving from side to side - big, crazy, jagged zig zags, and he didn't even seem to...it was like he didn't _know_ he wasn't walking straight. Or he just couldn't do anything about it, I don't know."

Ronnie's hands crept to his own knees, touching them gently in sympathy for his friend's pain as he continued, his voice distant and quiet, but loud in the silent room. "And the ground up there, it was so rocky and uneven and slippery from the rain on the rocks and all the mud, and he kept slipping, like every two steps, falling onto his knees, and his legs, his knees, they were so beat up, so bloody - he must've been falling like that all the way up the mountain, and he kept...he kept getting up, he kept going. It took him ages to reach me and it wasn't that far - and then when he finally did, he had the fucking nerve - he had the _gall_ to ask me if I was okay. He could barely walk, he could barely even _stand,_ he looked like he was gonna drop dead right in front of me, and the first words out of his mouth were 'You okay?'"

A bitter, tearful laugh burst from his lips suddenly, and he shook his head, staring through the tiled floor at something no one else could see. "No, dipshit, I'm _not_ okay, I thought you fucking died, but what the fuck are you doing asking me that when you look like you're six seconds away from the grave? I snapped at him, I cursed at him, and I wasn't even sure that he heard me, he just sort of ignored me and like, fell down next to me.

"I found my phone in his stuff, he had wrapped up his flashlight and some bars in his jacket because the light hurt his eyes but it was too dark to just have _no_ light, and the phone...he must've busted it when he fell, but I wasn't mad about the stupid fucking phone, I was just...he almost fucking died for a broken piece of shit, and we couldn't get help anymore. There was no hope, and we really, really, really needed help, way more than when it was just me and my fucking bumass ankle."

Sighing, Ronnie took a deep breath and pressed on. "I asked him to let me look at him, and God, his fucking _shoulder_ \- I mean, they said that was the hardest possible bone to break and he fucking _shattered_ it. The bone was sticking through his back, this big, sharp, horrible thing, there was so much blood. And his head was clearly really bad, it was too dark to see properly but just from the way he was acting...I yelled at him again, like...he went through all of this for fucking _nothing,_ Liv. I tried to touch his head and get a better look and he jumped like I was gonna hurt him.

"I tried to keep him awake for a while, I didn't want him to just...never wake up. I heard you're not supposed to let someone sleep with a head injury like that...but I couldn't just keep him awake forever, and it might've taken days until someone found us. And he was so exhausted, he kept telling me he was tired, and I kept poking him and forcing him to stay awake, until like hours later when the sun started coming up and he just sort of..._broke,_ he started crying and _begging_ me to let him sleep, so I did."

In his lap, Ronnie began wringing his hands violently, alone in the midst of his own private hell. "And then a couple hours later, I tried to wake him again and he wouldn't - he wouldn't wake up. And I slapped him, I fucking slapped his poor, broken face, with all those horrible fucking bruises already, and he still wouldn't...I thought I'd killed him. I thought he was never gonna wake up again and - Tana, I thought I was gonna have to tell you and the kids that I'm a fucking failure of a friend and he's stuck in a coma forever because of me, or I let him fucking _die._ I mean, I _am_ a fucking failure of a friend, but...you know, at least he's not _dead._

"Then the cop showed up, and he finally woke up on his own, for maybe a minute, and he was crying, apologizing because he broke my phone and he thought I was mad at him for it - like, God, how did I fuck him up so badly that he's still afraid that I'm mad at him hours later? But, like..._still,_ he's half-dead and he's worried about me, what the fuck?

"And then this morning...I made him laugh and I _hurt_ him, his ribs, and _he_ asked _me_ if _I_ was okay, and I just fucking lost it and spilled it, that it's my fault that he's...that he's like this, that he has to go through all this bullshit. And he _still_ was like 'It's my fault, not yours,' and I couldn't - it's _not_ his fault, it's _not._ It's _my_ fucking fault because _I'm_ a fucking klutz and I broke my ankle and made him feel like he had to go get help.

"And I just couldn't - it's so _infuriating_ \- it was out of my mouth before I could even realize what I was saying, and - Tana, you know, his fucking _eyes,_ his stupid sad puppy eyes...I fucking broke his _brain_ and then I had to go and break his fucking _heart,_ too."

They all sat in silence for a while except for Ronnie's occasional sniffles, until Tana broke it, her voice soft. "Thank you for sharing, Ronnie, for trusting us. It's truly _not_ your fault, you know. I don't blame you for it, and Brandon _certainly_ doesn't. He's very adamant about that. It was his choice, Ronnie."

"It was _not._ He had no choice." Choking on his tears, Ronnie stopped, swiping furiously at his swollen, burning eyes. "What did you expect him to do, sit there on that fucking rock with me for days and just _pray_ that someone would find us? He would never. He had no choice, he was the only one who could go back and look for my phone and try to get help. I took his choice away from him the second I broke my ankle and lost my phone, Tana. I practically shoved him off the fucking cliff myself. He had no choice. It was my fault."

Tana only shrugged slightly, conceding defeat. She sighed as she leaned over to retrieve her purse from the floor. "Would you like to...next time Brandon is awake, would you like to see him again? Maybe apologize?"

Ronnie turned to gape at her, astonished. It felt like the first time in hours that he had dared to make eye contact with another person. "You would really - you would let me back in there with him, after what I did?"

Tana smiled, bright and genuine. "Of course, Ronnie - it's not like I could ban you from seeing him forever. I know you love him. I _know_ you'd never, ever hurt him on purpose, I know it. I slipped and got frustrated with him myself this morning, actually; I made him cry, too. It's...I think that might just be our new normal, at least for now."

Her smile faltered and withered away, and she sighed. "But he _needs_ you, maybe even more than he needs me or the kids...you were up there with him - he didn't have anyone else except you. You know what he went through more than any of us - more than he does himself, even, because he can't remember - he finds that difficult, but I think it sounds like that's a blessing, really. He doesn't need to remember all of that. He just needs a friend right now. He needs_ you._ Just...be careful what you say to him, please."

"Always," Ronnie promised, smiling tentatively back at her, relief beginning to mend his broken heart. _Always._


	33. Chapter 33

Passing by the waiting room early the next morning, Mandy glanced inside and then doubled back, addressing the group at large. With Brandon's recovery progressing, several members of the entourage had said their goodbyes and bowed out, returning home, and the room was no longer entirely packed with people associated with The Killers.

"Hey, guys - Brandon has asked if he can avoid having visitors today, if that's alright. Everything's fine, he's okay. It just takes a lot out of him to visit with you guys, and he says he wants to focus on his therapy today." She smiled at his family apologetically, adding, "It's a good thing - sometimes we have to bribe patients, force them to participate. He'll feel better faster if he wants to do therapy. You'll be able to see him again tomorrow, he agreed to that."

Disappointed grumbles came from Brandon's kids, and Ronnie silently sympathized - he really wanted to apologize to Brandon. He'd hardly slept the night before for worrying, agonizing over what he would say.

"Alright then, who wants to help me choose a board game from the shelf?" The drummer asked, clapping his hands together. All three little hands shot into the air. "Gunnar, you win! Let's go."

\- - - - -

"Okay, Brandon, I've brought some new things for you to try today!" Ryan smiled as he unpacked his duffel bag and set up the parallel bars again, placing a small set of three stairs with a built-in hand rail by the window and a long foam mat next to the bars.

Brandon eyed the stairs warily. "I don't..."

"Ah, you can do it! Your wife told me you've got stairs at home, so you've got to practice sometime! But if you'd like we can start with just walking, that's fine."

"Please."

"Great! Now, I heard from Ernie, your occupational therapist, that you're starting to work on shaving, eating and dressing, and now even walking to the bathroom with a nurse, as of yesterday! That's quick progress, Brandon! Really, excellent work."

Brandon smiled absently, distracted, glancing nervously at the stairs. "Uh...yeah."

"Would you mind walking to the bars for me?"

Brandon heaved himself to his feet and made his way to the bars, stumbling a few times and wavering dangerously to the side once, but paying close attention to his steps, Ryan hovering just behind him. When he reached the bars, he grasped one tightly, thankful for its support.

"Perfect, Brandon. You're a lot steadier in the morning, have you noticed? You've got to make sure to let your body rest enough."

Brandon chucked, a short, dry laugh. "Don't...I don't th-th-think I could p-possibly...uh...uh...oh, w-what's the word?"

"Sleep?"

"Yes, sleep! Thank you. I d-don't think I could sleep any m-more...than I already d-do, Ryan."

"Mm, that sounds like a challenge to me, Brandon. Sleep is what you need the most right now, that's when your brain heals at the fastest rate. You've got to find the right balance between resting and working your brain."

"I s'pose."

Ryan patted his shoulder. "Alright, can you do two laps? Straight to the end, then turn around and come back. Hold onto the bar if you want to, it's okay." Ryan followed along on the outside of the bars, watching his patient's rollicking gait. "Great, Brandon. We're going to mix it up a little. Can you walk to the end again, but walk sideways?"

Brandon just blinked at the therapist, entirely dumbfounded. "Uh...I d-dunno."

"Well, let's give it a try, shall we? Here, turn and face the bar - good. You can hold the bar, go ahead. Okay, move your right foot to the right. Move your left foot to the right, now. Good! Can you do it again? Move your right foot to the right, then your left foot. Good, good, keep going!"

Halfway through the bars, Brandon stopped cold, distracted by a bird's shadow visible through the curtain covering his window. "Brandon, come on, keep going."

"Hm? Go where?" He sounded genuinely confused, and Ryan smiled. "You've got the keep walking to the end of the bars, Brandon."

"Oh..." He looked around, bewildered. "Was I...how...d-did I get here? I d-don't remember. I was...over there."

"That's alright, nothing to worry about. I don't blame you if you'd rather watch a bird than do this!" Ryan chuckled, waving him onward. "Come on, let's go. Can you walk sideways to the end of the bars? Just a few more steps to go, come on."

Brandon looked down at his feet, shuffling uncertainly. "Can you move your right foot to the right, towards the window? And then your left foot. Walk toward the bird, Brandon. Good!"

By the time they reached the end of the bars, the bird had flown away, but Brandon seemed to have forgotten about it anyway. His face was pale, his eyes focused determinedly on his feet. Ryan studied him warily, then pushed the wheelchair into place behind him. "Take a break, Brandon. Good work!"

Brandon fell into the chair, the color drained from his face, staring vaguely at the window. "Brandon, that was actually quite an advanced skill, good job! We're going to take a good, long break, and then we'll try something a little bit more familiar, okay?"

Brandon nodded, resting his chin on his hand, eyes closed, as Ryan settled into a chair of his own, jotting down observations in a battered notebook.

\- - - - -

"Ohhhhhh, mom, look, a dog!"

Ammon's excited voice broke through the little group's intensely competitive game of Monopoly - Mark was in the lead. A tall and willowy dark-skinned woman smiled cheerfully, accompanied by a fluffy brown and white collie with a blue harness proclaiming its status as a therapy dog.

"You kids must be Henry, Gunnar, and...it's Ammon, isn't it? We were making our rounds and I asked your dad if he would like to meet her, and he said no, he's hard at work - but it's your lucky day! He told us to take her to see you all instead! Normally we try to save her just for patients, but we made a special exception here."

"Ahhhh, thanks, dad!" Henry squealed gleefully, scrambling over to the dog, nearly upsetting the game board in his haste. His brothers followed close behind. "What's his name? Or her name?"

"Her name is Molly, dear." The woman smiled, watching as the boys crowded around the dog, who wagged her tail furiously, soaking up the petting. Many of the adults gazed longingly at the collie, but stayed in their seats - agreeing by unspoken rule that the kids should get first priority.

"Ohhh, hello, Molly!" Ammon gushed stroking her ruff vigorously and sitting on the floor beside her. The dog inched closer, large eyes fixed on him, tail beating wildly in excitement. The boy patted his leg in invitation and Molly crawled into his lap as best as she could, being a rather large dog in a rather young boy's lap. Content, she closed her eyes, enjoying the continued attention from the children, who cooed over her, very enthusiastic.

"Ohhh, I miss Annie," Ammon sighed, looking down at the dog. "I hope we can go home soon."

"I know, honey," Tana said softly, stroking his hair from her seat behind him, supervising the visit with Molly. "Your dad's getting better every day. I think they'll let us take him home before we know it."

"How long...do you have to take Molly away soon, miss?" Gunnar asked, looking up at the dog's handler with wide eyes as Molly pressed her face into his hand and he squeaked happily.

"Oh, you guys can hang out with her for another ten minutes or so before we need to move on. Lots of people for her to see, you know!"

Grins split each of the boys' faces and they fell upon the dog, fawning over her. Tana smiled watching them, finally completely carefree and absorbed in something. Good call, Brandon. They needed this. She could've sworn that the dog was grinning back at her children, her pink tongue flopping lazily in sheer happiness.


	34. Chapter 34

"Mr. Vannucci, Mr. Flowers would like to see you."

Rising to his feet, Ronnie blinked in surprise, both at the news -_ he actually WANTS to talk to me?_ \- and at Mandy's frosty tone. Apparently, this nurse could hold a grudge.

Mandy led Ronnie through the long hallway to the door, then turned suddenly and blocked the entrance from him, her gaze cool and flinty.

"Look, Mr. Vannucci, if it was up to me I wouldn't even let you in, honestly...but his wife is okay with it, and he _wants_ to see you, so...is it okay if I give you some tips?"

Ronnie raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Oh, um...I guess. Sure."

"He insisted on seeing you before he would do anything else today, so - we're giving him to you fresh, he's happy - _please_ don't ruin it for him again._ Think_ about what you're saying before you speak, and how he might take it. Give him time to react and to think about it. Break things up into chunks - don't jump from one subject to the next suddenly. His brain has to work overtime just to _listen_ to you, never mind responding. He has to filter out _everything_ \- the noise of the hospital, the things in the room, how he's feeling - and he has to work to focus on _you,_ and it's new to him, it's upsetting, and it's hard. The longer your visit goes on, the harder it gets - yes or no questions are best, if you can.

"It's pretty easy to tell when he's getting tired - he'll stutter more, have more pauses when he's trying to speak, he'll get headaches or be extra emotional. Be _patient_ with him, work with him, give him more time, speak in smaller sentences - ask him if he wants you to come back later, if you think maybe he's just...done. I'll cut you off early if he seems too overwhelmed, and I _will_ remove you from the room if he's too upset, but you're _all_ going to need to learn to live with this and accommodate him, so pay attention to what he's trying to tell you. Understand?"

"Yup, got it. Thanks, Mandy."

She smiled thinly at him and opened the door, leading him inside.

"Hi, Ronnie!" Brandon's grin was dazzlingly bright in the dim room, the biggest smile in Ronnie's memory since before the accident, and the expression on his face could only be described as adoration. _Whoa. That's...unexpected._

"Hi, Bran," he returned, forcing enthusiasm into his voice and pasting a smile onto his face through the nervous, sinking feeling in his stomach that threatened to reacquaint him with his breakfast - he hoped it was convincing.

No such luck.

Brandon's grin wilted as he stared at Ronnie and inspected him closely with narrowed eyes, his face an open book of concern and confusion. "Ronnie, are you - are you...okay? W-what's wrong?"

"Oh my god, Brandon, just -_ please_ don't ask me that. Don't look at me like that. I don't deserve it."

"W-what d-do you...what do you mean?"

"You're looking at me like I hung the fucking moon, Bran, and I'm...I'm _horrible._ I've been awful to you."

"What - I don't...I - I don't know what...I kind of remember...s-something..." Brandon's voice trailed off into nothingness, staring vaguely into space, his eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment, and Ronnie's heart flipped anxiously in his chest as he watched the confusion gradually melt into hurt and sadness. Brandon paused for several more seconds, unsure, before his expression suddenly cleared and he looked back up at Ronnie again, earnest and certain once more. "No - you w-wouldn't - you would _never_ \- oh, well. It m-m-must have b-been a d-d-dream. Doesn't - it d-doesn't matter. It's okay, Ron, w-whatever it is."

_ What the fuck have I done?_ The realization that Brandon did remember, at least to some degree, but so readily dismissed the incident as impossible - only a _nightmare_ \- shook Ronnie to his core. _He's so certain I would never actually do that...what the fuck is wrong with me? God...do I tell him? Should I? He'd be happier not knowing...oh, but he deserves to know, doesn't he? I've never lied to him before...I can't start now._

Ronnie took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "Brandon, what you remember, me - me saying that...it wasn't a dream. I just...I lost it for a second, and I'm so, so, so sorry, Bran."

Brandon looked utterly baffled, his eyes huge with disbelief in his pale face, fixed on Ronnie. "W-what? No, you wouldn't...you w-wouldn't...Ron?"

"I did, Bran, I did, I don't know why I said that but I did and I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it, I swear I didn't...I'm so sorry."

"Oh...but..._no,_ you wouldn't..." His face was filled with such confusion that it hurt Ronnie to look at him, and he sat quietly for a few minutes, trying to give him time to process. Like a switch, Brandon's face lit up again, his tentative smile a startling ray of sunshine. "It's okay, Ronnie. Doesn't - not - it doesn't matter. You d-didn't mean it."

"Oh, Brandon, _don't,_ oh my God - " he cut himself off abruptly, noticing Brandon's face beginning to crumple, his friend's expression falling as Ronnie's own voice rose, his hazel eyes turning misty. _Shit, Ronnie, stop it!_

"Ahhh, fuck, I'm doing it again. I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you, B, I _swear._ I'm sorry. I'm _not_ mad at you, I swear to God. I'm so sorry." He lowered his voice and hooked the chair by the wall with his crutch, dragging it close to Brandon's bedside. He sat carefully and laid his crutches on the floor at his feet, nestled underneath the bed. "I'm mad at _myself,_ Bran."

Bewilderment clouded his friend's face once more. "Why?"

"I said awful, horrible, mean things to you the other day, terrible things. I'm...I'm a monster," Ronnie sighed, dropping his eyes from Brandon's face for the first time.

"You - n-no, you're not, you're my b-b-best friend," Brandon said simply, as though it were the most obvious statement in the world, one of the great, unshakable truths of the universe. _It's so clear to him, isn't it? 'The sky is blue, water is wet, and Ronnie Vannucci is my best friend.'_ Ronnie's heart twisted painfully, tears pricking at his eyes while his stomach churned, mired in shame.

_ "No,_ Brandon - " Ronnie stopped again, alarmed as Brandon's expression crumpled even more than before, devastated, and Mandy shifted abruptly against the wall as though she wanted to intervene, opening her mouth to speak and then forcing herself to close it, turning her head away from them.

"But - but w-what d-do you mean? Why n-not?" Brandon asked tearfully, eyes downcast, chin trembling.

Ronnie looked to Mandy for help, utterly lost. She quirked her eyebrows in disapproval, hissing, "You just told him you're _not_ his best friend."

Ronnie's heart seized, a rush of panic stealing the air from his lungs. "Oh God, no, _no!_ Brandon, I'm sorry, I'm not good at this. I'm so sorry! God, someone just cut my fucking tongue out...of _course_ you're my best friend, Bran. I love you!"

Brandon didn't seem to hear him; he slumped against his pillows, staring down at his knees with tears in his eyes, biting his lip, his breath coming in quick, panicked bursts, catching on sobs in his chest with every frantic inhale. He closed his eyes, his jaw wobbling. For the first time, Ronnie could literally see how much effort it took for him to speak as he searched for his words and forced them out in a soft, impossibly broken whisper: "No, you - I'm not - you d-don't - I'm _different_ now and you d-d-don't like me, you don't w-want to be..."

_ Oh hell no, we're not going there._ Ronnie's heart shattered, crushed that Brandon could ever think such a thing. He leaned in closer and touched the back of his friend's hand lightly, trying to catch his attention. "Hey, please look at me, Bran. Please."

Brandon only shook his head slightly, watery eyes fixed on Ronnie's hand touching his own, and Ronnie sighed, frantically trying to formulate everything he wanted to tell his friend inside his head. _No more mistakes._

"Bran, I _love_ you. I love you so, so, so much. You're the best friend I've ever had, Brandon, and I swear to God that I'm not mad at you, okay? I'm just...I'm not doing so great at expressing myself lately, and I keep upsetting people - you, Tana, Liv, _everybody_...and I'm sorry. I'm not _trying_ to be an asshole, I'm just...a little like a fish out of water here...I'm still trying to deal with all this bullshit that's happened. But I love you, and if I have to force my way in here past Mandy every day to tell you that, then that's what I'll do. Of course I still want to be your friend! Nothing will ever, ever change that, I promise. You're my brother, my best friend as long as _you_ want to be. Okay?"

Ronnie bit his lip, pausing for a while, hanging in suspense, and he watched as his friend's breathing gradually slowed, his eyes unfocused as he considered what had been said. Finally, Brandon gave him a tiny nod in acknowledgement, and Ronnie sighed in relief.

"I just meant...I don't feel like I deserve..._you,_ I guess, Bran. When you asked if I was okay the other day...B, you're the only one who'd asked me that, really, and it just...triggered an avalanche that I don't think either of us was prepared for. Because no, I'm definitely _not_ okay, and neither are you - but I guess we can just be not okay together, right?"

Ronnie's lips twisted into a sardonic smirk, and his heart lifted with Brandon's lips as a tiny, ghostly smile of his own appeared.

"I know everyone disagrees with me, including you, but...I feel like I _made_ you fall off the fucking cliff. If I hadn't hurt myself first, none of this would've happened. You wouldn't have to work through all this shit, all this _pain._ I'm really, really sorry that you got hurt, and I'm so fucking sorry that you had to bear the brunt of my anger at myself, Bran. I am _not_ angry at you, buddy...just at me. And I _know_ you're gonna wanna tell me that it's not my fault, and that's very kind and I really appreciate it, but...I dunno, Bran, that's how I feel and I can't help it, even if no one else understands...you probably know what that's like, right?"

For a minute, Brandon didn't respond, and then he looked up at Ronnie shyly, nodding. He moved his hand - for a single, arresting heartbeat, Ronnie was afraid that he was moving his hand _away_ from him, but then Brandon had his fingers clasped securely between his own, his hand held tightly. Ronnie chuckled, a massive, overwhelming rush of affection filling his heart. "I _love_ you, Brandon, you know that, don't you?"

A smile bright enough to illuminate the darkened room was more than enough answer to that question, but then, the barest, tiniest whisper: "I love you t-too, Ron."

Ronnie sighed, squeezing Brandon's hand. "Can I have a hug, B? Please?"

In response, Brandon simply shifted to the side of his bed, leaving room for Ronnie to clamber up and settle next to him, careful not to jostle him. Gently, the drummer wrapped his arms around his friend, and felt Brandon do the same with his good arm, pressing him against his chest and his injured arm, resting in its sling between them. A slight twinge of concern was smothered in warmth when he felt a stealthy kiss planted on the top of his head. Ronnie rested his cheek on Brandon's shoulder, settling into the embrace, but couldn't help a word of caution:

"Careful, your arm - I don't wanna hurt - "

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Brandon whispered - Ronnie couldn't see his smile, but he could hear it in the teasing tone in his friend's soft voice. He snorted in laughter, but the next giggled comment sent him careening over the edge, laughing hysterically into Brandon's shoulder.

"Your b-beard...it tickles."


	35. Chapter 35

"Hey, buddy."

Late in the afternoon, just as the sun began to descend in the sky outside the hospital, the door to Brandon's room opened a crack and a light brown head of curls peeked around the corner, Dave's expression uncharacteristically nervous, his eyes darting around the dim room.

"Sorry, I'm sure you'd rather see your kids or something - it's just that Mark and I are leaving sooooon...oh." The guitarist trailed off as he noticed that Brandon was waving him inside, smiling, rendering his apology unnecessary. Followed by a dark-haired nurse who lurked near the doorway, he approached his bandmate's bedside sheepishly, scuffing the floor with his shoe as he came to a halt.

"Uh...how're you feeling?" Dave asked, his question flat and half-hearted as though he knew it wasn't the best thing to ask, but couldn't think of anything more suitable.

Brandon smiled slightly and shrugged. "C-could be worse." He hesitated and dropped his gaze to his knees, suddenly uncomfortable. Brandon fiddled with the edge of his blanket anxiously, then took a deep breath. "D-Dave - I'm sorry you had to be...s-stuck here for a while. I d-didn't...I didn't mean to...take you away from your son. I'm sorry."

Dave scoffed, running a hand through his wild curls. "Aww, Brandon, don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't just not come and check on you - come on! He can handle a week and a half without me. Apparently you and Ronnie need a hiking chaperone, though," he teased, laughter bubbling in his voice.

Brandon grimaced, a painful twinge in his heart at the reminder. "We won't be...won't be hiking again...n-not for a long time."

"Ah, shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean - "

"It's okay...it's okay." Brandon raised his hand to cut him off - Dave's eyes fixed on the obvious tremor in his hand, and he swallowed hard at the sight. Fighting a sudden rush of self-consciousness, Brandon quickly lowered his arm and tucked his hand protectively behind his other arm's sling, wishing fervently that he could just disappear. _Shit. How do I...? 'Sorry, Dave, we haven't seen each other in ages and I'm a useless freak now'?_

Dave cleared his throat, shuffling his weight from foot to foot at the end of the bed. "I...um, I heard maybe all...this stuff - " he waved his hand vaguely at Brandon " - might all...go away? Eventually, I mean...you know. That would be good."

"Yeah. I guess...I'm t-trying to...not to...trying n-not to think about it," Brandon admitted quietly, biting his lip and staring at his hand, hidden from Dave but burning holes in his own eyes, his vision suddenly swimming. _Useless._

"Oh, that's probably good, in case - shit, I'm sorry, what the fuck am I saying? I'm sorry, I don't...I don't know..." Brandon glanced up at Dave and noticed that he looked vaguely ill, like he wished the earth would swallow him up. _Ha. Me too, Dave._

Brandon shrugged, sighing softly. "It's okay. It's n-not...it's not...um...it's hard for everyone. It's weird. Thanks for c-coming to...stay with everyone. And for - for saying goodbye."

"Yeah, of course! I'm, um...I'm glad you're...okay. I mean, you know..." His bandmate's mortified expression might've been funny if Brandon had been in a different mood - Dave was clearly in agony, tripping over himself in awkward attempts to be comforting but...not quite succeeding.

_I wouldn't do much better in his place, though,_ he mused, his lips twitching, and then he giggled as Dave's expression melted in obvious relief at the tiny smile on his face - he'd clearly been afraid of offending him. _Maybe I should put him out of his misery._ "Thanks, Dave. And thanks f-for...coming, it's nice to s-see you...but don't - I d-don't want to keep you f-from your flight..."

"Oh, yeah, I should go!" Dave seized gratefully on the opportunity to bow out, pausing at the door and looking back. "Look, I know I keep fucking up trying to talk, but...well, I'm just...I really am glad you're not dead, Brandon. You're pretty tough, you know."

Brandon snorted. "Thanks, Dave."

"Is it okay if...Mark wanted to come say goodbye, too, before he takes off."

Dave looked uncertainly between the nurse and Brandon, and the nurse raised her eyebrows at her patient. "What do you think, Brandon, are you up to it?"

Brandon nodded, and Dave slipped through the door with the nurse, softly reprimanding himself on the way down the hall: "'That's good, in case it never goes away'? Yeah, that'll make him feel better. Great job, Dave. What the fuck, who says that? Stupid, stupid..."

Brandon was left with a few minutes of silence to rest before there was a quiet knock at the door. The tall, gangly form of Mark Stoermer appeared, holding a small red and white ice chest. "Hi, Brandon. I came bearing gifts - your nurse says it's alright, and if you don't want it right now she'll hide it in the break room freezer for you."

He placed the ice chest on Brandon's lap, an enigmatic smile forming on his lips. Intrigued, Brandon fumbled for the lid, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he reached for it, fell just short, and tried again. Mark moved closer, fidgeting nervously. "Uh, do you want me to...?"

Brandon shook his head, smiling wryly up at him. "Thanks, but it's kinda...it's kinda like physical therapy...I g-got it."

After several more tries, he finally rested his hand on the lid of the ice chest and struggled to push it back and open it with one hand, the box rocking backwards as he worked. _Stupid thing._ Frowning, he glared at the little chest. "Mark, could you - no, d-don't open it, just...just hold it...s-so I can...thanks."

As the lid finally slid back, Brandon blinked at its contents in astonishment, then stared up at Mark, open-mouthed. _He didn't really...?_ "You...you d-didn't have to..._Mark!"_

The bassist offered him one of his elusive grins, rare as diamonds. "I ordered them special from Luv-It for you, they shipped them out here. Figured you could use a little piece of Vegas right now. And it's a nice change from hospital food."

Nestled inside the chest among dozens of plastic ice cubes were two cups of deliciously rich frozen custard from Brandon's favorite place in Las Vegas. "Mark, th-that's...thank you! Really." He grinned back at the bassist, then looked to the nurse. "Sorry...w-would you mind...?"

The nurse stepped forward and closed the lid of the chest, picking it up carefully. "Of course! We'll guard it for you," she teased, winking at him. "Just let a nurse know when you want it!"

"So do you know when they'll let you out of here yet? Tana didn't know, but I thought maybe you'd have the inside scoop."

Brandon shrugged, sighing. "It's the physical therapy that's the..the p-problem. I can't w-walk as far as I n-need to yet, I have to...I'm not there yet. I can't do...um...I c-can't - " _Fuck._ He huffed in frustration, motioning upward with his hand.

"Uh...hills? Stairs?" Mark suggested, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

_"Yes,_ stairs, th-thanks. Hills too, but they won't...they w-won't let me go until...until I can do s-stairs."

"Oh, that's not so bad, Brandon! I can barely take the stairs myself, I like elevators. They hurt my knees."

Brandon giggled. "That's j-just 'cause you're... you're too t-tall, Mark."

"Yeah, but you'll get there! You're a hard worker, Brandon, I bet you'll get there and they'll let you out of here before you know it."

"M-Maybe. Thanks."

"No worries, Brandon, you've got this. I know it. Maybe it'll take a while, but you've _got_ this. You'll whip your brain into shape. Ronnie says you walked all the way up that mountain to find him, so you can do it."

Brandon smiled shakily at Mark, feeling a little glow of appreciation for him. "Thanks, Mark."

"No problem, Brandon. I've got to go catch my flight, but I told Ronnie to keep me updated on everything, okay? You've got this, I promise. Enjoy that custard, okay?"

Brandon grinned, looking over at the red ice chest in the nurse's arms once more. "Thanks, Mark. That was r-really nice..thanks."

Mark laughed to himself as he opened the door and called back over his shoulder as he stepped out:

"Just don't let Ronnie eat it, okay? It's _yours._ Ronnie can fuck off and fly to Vegas himself if he wants some."

He closed the door with a little smile, listening as Brandon's trademark high-pitched giggles followed him down the hall.


	36. Chapter 36

" - should've seen her, she was soooo soft and so pretty, dad!"

Gunnar bounced up and down in excitement, grinning at Brandon. "And Molly really liked Ammon, too, she just crawled right in his lap like she knew him, right, Ammon?"

Ammon nodded vigorously, beaming at his father. "Yeah, dad, it was so fun! Thanks for asking that lady to bring Molly to see us, dad! We had so much fun cuddling with her!"

"That's - that's g-good, guys, I'm glad... I'm glad you had f-fun."

Mandy stepped forward, and before she could even open her mouth, the children all took their cue to say goodbye. One by one, they hugged Brandon and reluctantly made their way to the door, Ammon and Henry looking back longingly. "Sorry, kids, it's almost time for your dad's therapy."

Gunnar grinned at Brandon once more, lingering around the doorway. "Oh, cool!! Mom says you're doing a good job with your therapy, dad! I hope it's fun!"

"Oh, I hope it's fun, too," a man's unfamiliar voice said, and Gunnar jumped in surprise with a little gasp and turned to see a tall, thin man smiling at him, his long black hair in a ponytail down his back. In the hallway behind them, Ammon and Henry sniggered together at Gunnar's fright. "Hello, son, I'm Ernie, your dad's occupational therapist."

Blinking quickly, still trying to recover, Gunnar nonetheless held out his hand to the man, standing tall. "Hi, Ernie! I'm Gunnar," he said brightly, jerking his head at his brothers, who hurried over to introduce themselves as well.

"You've got to help our dad get better, okay, Ernie?" Gunnar said with a smile, herding his siblings away from the door and out of the man's way.

"That's the plan," Ernie winked, and he waved to the kids and headed inside.

\- - - - -

Several hours later, after two therapy sessions and a long nap, Mandy knocked on Brandon's door and peeked inside. "Hi, Mr. Flowers! Mr. Vannucci would like to know if you're up for a chat with him?"

Brandon nodded, but raised his hand to catch her attention as she turned to leave. "Um, M-Mandy - what's the...the thing on the table over there?" he asked, waving at the small side table against the wall.

Mandy walked briskly to the table, picking up the book and smiling at the tiny surgical thread bowties as she carried it to him. "It's a little book your children made for you, do you remember?"

Brandon shook his head absently, touching the cover of the book gently. "Thanks, Mandy."

"Of course, Mr. Flowers - my pleasure! I'm just going to fetch Mr. Vannucci for you, I'll be back in a minute."

Several minutes passed before Mandy and Ronnie strolled down the hall together, and Mandy knocked on Brandon's door once again, opening it for Ronnie.

"Sorry, Brandon, I just wanted to see - " Ronnie stopped cold, blinking in astonishment. Tears were streaming down Brandon's face, the right side once again covered in fresh nicks from shaving as he sat looking down at something colorful in his lap. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked quietly, thumping toward his friend as quickly as his crutches would allow, Mandy slipping into the room behind him.

"That's the book his kids made for him," Mandy whispered, eyeing Brandon with concern as she settled the chair at his bedside for Ronnie. "He saw it on the table just a few minutes ago and asked me to give it to him. Everything was okay when I left..."

Ronnie eased himself down into the chair and leaned his crutches against the side of the bed. He hesitated, then reached out and touched his friend's arm lightly, whispering, "Brandon, hey...what's wrong, little brother?"

Brandon didn't even look at him, tearful eyes fixed on the book on front of him. Ronnie craned his neck to see what he was looking at: a vibrant Crayon drawing of his sons biking down the street, with a figure that was clearly meant to be Brandon bringing up the rear of the group.

"Ohhh, that must be when you smashed your face in," Ronnie chuckled, brushing the page lightly with his fingertips. His little quip earned no reaction at all. "Bran, please...come on, what's wrong?" Once again, his question seemed to fall on deaf ears. Ronnie sighed, chewing on his lower lip uncertainly. _How do I...help?_

"Brandon, do you want me to leave?" Expecting no response, Ronnie was thus surprised when this question was met with a vigorous denial as Brandon shook his head emphatically, sniffling softly and wiping away his tears. _Alright then, that's one decision made._ "Scoot over then, buddy, I'm coming up there with you," he said quietly, touching Brandon's arm again, reminding him to move with a gentle nudge.

Slowly, Brandon shuffled away from Ronnie, making room for him to climb up beside him. Trying to get into the bed, Ronnie accidentally knocked his crutches with his foot and sent them clattering loudly to the floor. A strangled cry of pain echoed in Ronnie's ears as Brandon flinched violently away from the noise.

_ God, can't I do anything right?_ "Shit, shit, _fuck_...Bran, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so clumsy. I'm sorry! It's okay. I promise I won't make any more loud noises, B. I'm _sorry."_

Finally on the bed, Ronnie twisted around and peered at Brandon, guilt constricting his throat at the sight of his friend cringing and shrinking into the bed. It looked as though he were trying to disappear entirely, his eyes screwed shut and his pallid face lined with pain, covering his ear tightly with his only usable hand. Mandy hastily retrieved the crutches and hovered uncertainly around Brandon's IV pole. She watched him closely, clearly trying to decide whether she should administer pain medicine or wait for the episode to pass on its own.

"Hey, Bran?" No reaction, once again. Sighing, Ronnie moved closer and reached out, enveloping Brandon's slight body in a gentle hug. For several seconds, he was stiff as a board in Ronnie's arms, and then suddenly, a great sob broke through the silence and the younger man was wracked with tears, burying his face in Ronnie's shoulder and soaking his shirt.

"Aww, _Bran_...it's okay, I'm sorry, I swear I didn't mean to hurt your poor head, I'm sorry, B. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered, carefully squeezing him more firmly and rubbing his back in small circles. "I'm a shitty friend, Bran, I'm sorry...I'm sorry."

Gradually, his tears calmed and then suddenly Brandon was returning Ronnie's embrace fiercely, a one-armed hug so tight that Ronnie's breath left his lungs with a soft "oof" of escaping air. Just as quickly, the hug loosened, and Ronnie eased slowly away from him, trying to get a good look at his face and perhaps gauge his state of mind.

Brandon's face was blotchy and red, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. He refused to meet Ronnie's eyes, even as he gently placed two fingers beneath Brandon's chin and forced his head up, trying to compel his friend to look at him.

"Bran, what's _wrong?_ Please, B, talk to me. Let me help you." Resolutely, Brandon's eyes remained fixed on his grey bedspread, shining with even more unshed tears. With a deep inhale, he whispered shakily, "I - I can't. They're g-gonna...they're gonna hate me. You're gonna hate me."

_ Ouch._ Like tiny daggers, those words pierced Ronnie's heart - _Bran, what is happening in that poor, broken head of yours? What is happening to you?_ "Oh, Brandon, no one could ever hate you. We _love_ you."

Tenderly, Ronnie reached out to caress Brandon's cheek, but he was rebuffed as Brandon leaned away from his touch. The sudden wariness in his sad eyes drove the blades deeper into Ronnie's heart, and he dropped his hand into his lap, hot tears stinging the corners of his own eyes.

Taking deep breaths, Ronnie sat silently for a few minutes, hoping to give his friend time to reset - and himself. Slowly, he moved to Brandon's side, settled back into the pillows next to him and wrapped his arm tightly around his shoulders. The drummer rested his bearded face carefully on Brandon's good shoulder so he could see the book more clearly. "Can I see that book, Bran? Is that okay?"

Wordlessly, Brandon pushed the little book closer to Ronnie, then let go of it completely and curled his hand into a white-knuckled fist in his lap. He closed his eyes, a tremulous little sigh escaping his lips. Ronnie flipped through its pages, looking for anything that may have upset him - nothing that he could see, just dozens of carefully done, adorable drawings from his children, showing all the little moments of their lives that they cherished. "These are so sweet, Brandon. I knew your kids were working on it but they never let anyone see - they wanted it to just be for you. They're beautiful."

Brandon shook his head almost imperceptibly, his chin trembling with the effort of holding back his tears. Ronnie sighed and nestled his cheek more firmly into Brandon's shoulder, deciding to just wait it out - he'd talk when he was ready.

The seconds on the clock on the wall ticked by...five minutes...ten minutes passed, and Mandy slid to the floor, sitting with her knees tucked into her chest, her chin in her hand...twenty minutes...Ronnie had just drifted off to sleep on Brandon's arm when the sudden vibrations of his friend's voice in his chest startled him awake - even quieter than usual, he sounded hoarse and tired...almost _empty._

"I can't...I can't b-be their dad, anymore, Ron."

Ronnie blinked drowsily, not raising his head, his own voice gruff and slurred with lingering sleep. "I don'...I don'understand. Wha'da ya mean?"

"I'm not...all of that stuff in that book, all that...all the stuff that they c-cared about enough to draw, I can't...I c-c-can't do any of it anymore. _That's_ their d-dad. I'm j-just...I'm some _other_ person, some...some useless, p-pathetic, stupid, _broken_ person in their dad's body."

Ronnie's blood froze at this confession, so raw and honest. He had never heard him so desolate - it was horribly clear that these thoughts had been ruminating inside his best friend's dark, fractured mind for a long time. He dearly wanted to interrupt and smash this terrible, erroneous belief to pieces at once, but the deeply unsteady way that Brandon drew each breath told him that he hadn't finished - he was merely trying to retain his composure.

After a pause that lasted almost five minutes, Brandon spoke once more, his voice barely even a ghost of a whisper. "Ron...w-what am I? Who am I? It's not...I c-can't...I can't be in the b-band, I've let all of you down. I can't b-be a dad to my fucking k-kids, either, I can't...I can't...I can't even help T-Tana anymore...I'm only m-making her feel w-worse, I know it. It's too m-much stress for her. Should've...I should've just d-died, Ron. I wish...I wish I'd just died."

_ Jesus fucking Christ._ Whether Brandon had finished or not, Ronnie couldn't hold his tongue anymore. "Brandon, I _know_ you don't really mean that." In his haste to speak, his voice came out much harsher than intended, and Brandon flinched slightly and ducked his head, biting his lip.

Cursing himself, Ronnie forced himself to moderate his tone, and he spoke softly. "I'm sorry, Bran. You just...you can't see, you can't see how amazing you are, you're all muddled and mixed up and tired and sad and your brain is telling you _lies,_ Brandon; it's hurt and it's sick and it's _lying_ to you. You're so strong, Bran, you'll get through this. I know it."

He carefully reached out and touched Brandon's face, wiping away a tear on his cheek. Very gently, Ronnie cupped his face and turned his friend's head toward him, keeping his hand in place. "Brandon..." Choked by tears of his own, Ronnie stopped and cleared his throat roughly.

"Bran, nothing on this planet could ever keep those boys from loving you. You're their whole world, and Tana's too. Whatever's going on in your head, Bran, don't you ever doubt that. We're only a couple weeks past the accident, B - it will get better, I _promise._ You're already walking, shaving, all sorts of stuff, aren't you? You had such a good day just yesterday! You're doing new things all the time, and you're doing so, so good."

Ronnie paused, waiting for a minute to give Brandon time to process, before continuing softly, "And you're my little brother, Bran - my very, very best friend. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don't give a flying fuck if you can't ride a bike or be in the stupid fucking band or whatever. Your value as a person isn't tied to what you can _do,_ Brandon. You're still the same ridiculous, goofy, amazing, impossibly kind person you were a couple weeks ago - you're just going through a really rough time right now. And you're still my little brother, right? _Forever."_

Ronnie released his hold on Brandon's face - immediately, he lowered his head once more, staring blankly at his knees. _God, I hope he's listening._ Ronnie rubbed his beard, feeling about a thousand years old.

"You're still _you,_ even if you feel different now. You're still Brandon Flowers, my best friend and the light of Tana's life, and the kids...Bran, those kids light up like the fucking _stars_ every time they talk about you, they're so damn proud of you and I guarantee they don't care about what you can or can't do right now. They're proud of_ you. This_ version of you."

Ronnie snorted softly to himself and grinned at Brandon suddenly, nudging his knee to get his attention. "You know, Henry and Ammon were chatting up this little old lady in the waiting room yesterday, and they were telling her all about how amazing you are - how amazing their _dad_ is. A big, big part of being a dad is being a good role model, right? They don't brag about shit you did _before_ the accident, they're bragging about how you tore up a fucking _mountain_ in the middle of a rainstorm at midnight to find me. They're proud of how hard you keep trying, even though life is really, really fucking hard right now."

Carefully Ronnie touched Brandon's hand, and then slowly closed his own fingers around it. When Brandon didn't pull away, he smiled. "You're still the same person, Bran - still the same stubborn ass who refuses to give up, no matter how hard it gets. And that's gonna get you far - it's gonna get easier, Bran, I _promise._ You've just got to keep kicking ass in your therapy and things will be better before you know it, and this part will all just be like a bad dream."

Brandon's eyes were misty now, locked on Ronnie's hand entwined with his own. Ronnie leaned his head back onto his shoulder. "None of us can really understand how you feel, but we want to try, and we want to help you through it, however we can. I know it's fucking terrifying when even the doctors can't tell you what's gonna happen, but...I _love_ you, and Tana and your boys _really_ love you, and we all just want you to be _happy,_ and even if it doesn't feel like that's possible to you right now, even if you can't see it..._I_ can see it, Bran. I _promise_ you're gonna be happy again."

They sat in silence for several minutes, and then Brandon squeezed Ronnie's hand tightly and leaned his own head against Ronnie's.

A soft whisper, not much more than a breath, reached Ronnie's ears.

"Can you - will you...w-will you stay with me?"

Ronnie raised his eyebrows at Mandy in silent inquiry, and she shrugged and smiled. Ronnie lifted his head and kissed Brandon's cheek gently, then nestled his own cheek back into his shoulder with a sigh.

"Yeah, Bran, of course. I'd love to stay with you. I love you, you know."

A minute later, another tiny whisper: "I l-love you, too."

Ronnie smiled.


	37. Chapter 37

The sun was just beginning to set when Ronnie awoke, turning the hospital curtains fiery orange. He blinked blearily for a few seconds, trying to orient himself, and his stomach rumbled unhappily - it must be dinner time. Groaning quietly, he looked down, a soft smile spreading across his face at the sight of Brandon fast asleep, pressed against his side, his head tucked firmly into Ronnie's chest, clutching Ronnie's hand loosely in his own. His face was soft and childlike, relaxed in sleep.

"Oh, good, I just came back, I was just about to wake you - my shift is almost over," Mandy whispered, approaching the bed on quiet feet. "I'm really not supposed to let anyone sleep with the patients, but..." she shrugged, gazing down at Brandon, her eyes softening as she took in their intertwined fingers and Brandon's head resting on Ronnie's chest.

"How long has it...?"

"Oh, really not that long, actually - only about half an hour. It's alright. He needed you."

"Can you help me...?"

"Of course, of course." Very carefully, the nurse removed Ronnie's hand from Brandon's and eased her patient away from Ronnie, doing her best to disturb him as little as possible. Slowly, Ronnie shuffled to the side of the bed, and accepted his crutches from Mandy. As he stood, a small voice spoke behind him, soft as a breath of wind.

"Ronnie?"

Turning back to the bed, Ronnie smiled at his friend, his hair tousled in sleep and his eyes still dim and foggy - Brandon was clearly on the edge between sleep and waking.

"Yeah, B?

"Ronnie...n-no - don't - p-please d-don't tell T-Tana...what I t-told you. P-Please. _Promise."_

_ Huh?_ Ronnie had just opened his mouth to ask what Brandon meant when everything came back to him at once, and a sick feeling rose in his stomach, horror bubbling at the memories. _Oh. Oh God._

"Bran, I can't - I can't..."

Tears welled up in Brandon's eyes, and he struggled to sit up, rubbing the sleep and the tears from his eyes.

"Please, Ron - I - I told_ you,_ not her. She can't...she d-doesn't...she doesn't need to be dealing with me. _Please._ I c-can't...I can't keep _hurting_ her...p-please. I told _you._ I - I trust _you."_

"Bran, she'd understand, you know - "

_ "Exactly!_ R-Ron, p-please, I can't...no - I k-keep _hurting_ her, I _see_ it, and I c-can't... I'm only m-making her worse. P-please, Ron, she can't - she c-couldn't - no, _please,_ it would b-break her." Brandon's wide eyes pierced Ronnie's heart, fear and guilt and agitation and such incredible _sadness_ in them that they took his breath away.

_Oh my God, Brandon, why are you making me do this?_ Ronnie sighed, dropping his eyes from Brandon's pleading face and staring at his shoes in silence, listening to his friend's frantic, shaky breathing as he waited for his response. Loyalty to Brandon and horror at the seriousness of his confession warred in his gut. _'I trust you.'_

"Please, R-Ronnie?"

A deep sigh burst from his lungs, tension releasing in one long breath. "Yeah, Bran...yeah, I won't tell. It's okay."

Relief painted Brandon's face, banishing the darkness of the anxiety that had been there a moment before. A beautiful smile, a slice of sunshine, split his face from ear to ear.

"Thank you. _Th-thank you."_

"Yeah," Ronnie said gruffly, leaning down to kiss the crown of Brandon's head, flattening an unruly curl with his lips. "I love you, Bran. Get some rest."

"Love you," Brandon said simply, sinking back into his pillows and watching as Ronnie and Mandy left him alone, closing the door softly behind them.

In the hallway, Ronnie turned to the nurse with wide eyes, running his hands through his hair. "Mandy, God, he wishes he was _dead,_ what do I...I have to tell - "

She shook her head violently, holding her hand up to stop him. She gestured down the hall and started walking, leading Ronnie away from Brandon's room. When they were firmly out of earshot, she turned back to him.

"Mr. Vannucci, it is not your responsibility to tell anyone. I've already passed what he said along to his wife and to the rest of his care team, it's alright. It's not...it's not your job to break his trust, Mr. Vannucci. It's okay."

_Oh, thank God._ Ronnie released a shaky breath that he hadn't even known he was holding, relief blossoming inside him.

The nurse twirled a strand of hair anxiously, glancing down the hall in the direction of Brandon's room. "Honestly, Mr. Vannucci, we aren't surprised. It's...depression, suicidal thoughts - it's a very, very common effect of serious brain injuries, and he's been displaying signs of it all along.

"It's - well, it's like he said, actually - the injury sort of splits their lives in two. There's the self they were before the injury, and this new, _different_ person afterwards. It's very distressing, you know, it's horrible - to realize that you aren't in full control of your mind or body anymore, and that you might never be again - and that even your doctors aren't certain how much you'll recover. To remember how it felt to be a fully functioning person, and to now be trapped by your own mind, so limited, and so...hyperemotional - it's a terrible fate. He knows he never used to react like this, he knows it's not _normal,_ but he can't help it."

Ronnie took a deep breath, fighting a rising lump in his throat. _God, what he's going through...I can't imagine. _"How do you...he needs_ help,_ Mandy."

She nodded. "He's been having little sessions with his neuropsychologist, more like assessments right now, so we can find out how he's doing, what he's thinking, what's been impaired - what he _needs_ is to go to rehab. They have all the resources to help him there, intensive physical therapy, therapists to help him learn to cope, group therapy, support groups...but I know his wife is against it."

The nurse sighed, shrugging, her shoulders slumped. "When I told her what he said just now, she just...she thinks it's just because he's been in the hospital for weeks now, she thinks it will all be better when she takes him home. But it _won't,_ Mr. Vannucci. If anything, he'll only get _worse_ if we send him home without proper preparation, without rehab."

Speaking quickly now, Mandy's words tumbled over each other, her frustration evident. "She wants to just have him live at home and take him to his appointments, do outpatient rehab. Going home right now - that will only reinforce his belief that he's inadequate, that he's not fit to be a father. Right now, the list of things he can't do is a lot longer than what he _can_ do, and...that's demoralizing for someone in full possession of their faculties, but - but for people with brain injuries...it really hits hard, it's _dehumanizing._ He needs time to learn how to...how to _live_ with himself, Mr. Vannucci. His new self. But...I don't think we're going to win that fight."

Mandy sighed, rubbing her face, clearly exhausted. "But that's a problem for another day, I suppose. Go home, get some rest, Mr. Vannucci."

Ronnie nodded, flexing his hands against the grips of his crutches, and smiled. "Thanks, Mandy, for all your help. Really. Brandon likes you, you know - I think that helps him."

She smiled, glancing past Ronnie to Brandon's door once more. "I like him too, he's a very kind person - and optimistic, I can feel that even through all his pain right now. He'll be alright, with time."

"I hope so," Ronnie sighed, stumping down the hall toward the waiting room. _I really, really hope so._


	38. Chapter 38

"Hey - wait, Tana, can I talk to you? Please?"

Ronnie stuck his crutch in the doorway to Tana's hotel room just before she closed the door, forcing it to stay open. Tana looked up at him with tired eyes, glancing back at her children as they meandered toward their bedroom.

"Um...I guess, yeah, let me just - um - I need to put them to bed, okay?"

Ronnie stepped back and she disappeared into their room for a few minutes and emerged pale-faced, wiping tears from her bloodshot eyes. She barely looked at Ronnie as she grabbed her key card from her purse on the kitchen counter and led him to the little lounge by the hotel elevators.

"What do you want?" she asked shortly, rubbing her eyes, fighting fatigue as she settled into the sofa.

Ronnie dropped down next to her and leaned his crutches against the arm of the sofa, then took a deep breath. "I...Mandy told you what happened today? What Brandon said?"

She nodded, pushing wayward strands of blonde hair out of her face. She was silent for a minute, fidgeting with a loose strand in the stitching of her jeans and avoiding Ronnie's eyes. Finally, Tana sighed and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and spoke to a dark stain on the green and grey carpet.

"Yeah...she came and gave Brandon's book back to me, the book the boys made for him. Said it was upsetting him, it wasn't good for him - that we should keep it away from him for a bit, until - until he's better."

She paused, blinking rapidly. "I hid it in my purse, I can't...the kids can't know that it's hurting him. They tried so hard to make something that would make him _happy,_ I - I can't - " her voice broke and she closed her eyes and hugged herself, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. "I can't tell them that it's really doing the opposite."

She was quiet then, and Ronnie bit his lip, debating silently with himself. "She told you...she told you he said he should've died?" he asked gingerly, aware he was now treading in very treacherous waters.

Tana nodded wordlessly, her jaw clenched tightly. "Yes," she whispered after a minute, her voice tight with tears. "She did."

Thinking of her face as she had emerged from her sons' room, he hesitated, then asked, "Do the kids...do they know?"

She looked at Ronnie as though he'd grown a second head. "Of course not, Ron, don't you think they have enough to worry about? They're _children._ They just got _over_ being afraid their dad was going to die, I'm not going to do that to them again."

"The nurse, Mandy - she told me you refused the hospital's referral to rehab."

"Yes," she said, her tone short and clipped.

"Tana," he began, and then he faltered as he watched her stare stubbornly at the spot in the carpet, her eyes shining. "Tana, he needs _help."_

Her voice was strong and steely now, brushing Ronnie away like a bothersome fly. "We _will_ help him. He'll have all the therapists, all the doctors he needs. At _home,_ where he _belongs."_

"Mandy doesn't think that will - "

_ "Mandy!"_ Tana scoffed tearfully, her voice climbing higher in hysteria, nearly shrieking in fury, "Mandy doesn't _know_ him! Mandy just met_ him!_ He needs to be home. With us, with the kids, out of that horrible hospital, that horrible place - he needs to go _home._ He'll be better if he can just go _home."_

"Tana, come _on!_ It's not the fucking hospital, it's the fucking brain damage! He's _depressed._ His self esteem has gone to shit, I've never - I've never, ever seen him this low, Tana. He took over half an hour to even speak to me today, he was so upset, he's so - God, he's such a mess. He's talking about how he can't be a dad, he's stupid, he's useless, he's _broken,_ and he wishes he was _dead."_

Tana winced as the last word fell, but remained silent, still avoiding Ronnie's eyes.

_ God, this is like pulling teeth._ Ronnie sighed, wishing he could scream at her, force her to see what she was doing.

"Come on, Tana, you know - "

_ "Yes,"_ she snapped, her voice cracking like a whip in the quiet lounge, soft and full of venom. "I _know,_ Ronnie, I _know,_ and you don't. Don't try to lecture me. He - I had Torey change all our light switches to dimmer switches like the one in his hospital room, he put blackout curtains in every room. We'll get him a new psychiatrist, someone who knows head injuries - we'll get him a new therapist, all the physical therapy and whatever else he needs, but he needs to be _home,_ Ronnie. What if they send him off to rehab and he _falls,_ if he hurts himself again? I can't put the kids through that, I can't put _any_ of us through that. He'll feel better soon. The kids need their dad, Ronnie, and I need him - we need him _home."_

Ronnie laughed bitterly, frustration bleeding through, and he slapped his thigh in anger, digging his nails into the skin through his shorts. "The kids are the _problem,_ Tana! He can't take care of them right now, he can't take care of you - he can't even take care of _himself!_ You're going to send him home and every time he looks at those kids, he's gonna be reminded of all the shit he_ can't_ do for them, and he's gonna - Brandon's falling, Tana, he's _failing,_ and he - the kids will _see_ that - and he - he_ can't_ be their dad right now, he's not even remotely capable and it's _killing_ him, Tana!"

"So we'll get him help!" Tana hissed through clenched teeth, her hands forming pearly-knuckled fists in her lap, her eyes burning holes in the carpet. "But he will _not_ be sent away like some - like some piece of _luggage_ instead of part of our _family._ I will _not_ break up my family, Ronnie, and that's final. Brandon will be _fine."_

She stood abruptly, her knees shaking visibly. Ronnie tried to touch her wrist, and she slapped his hand away. _"Do - not - touch - me,"_ she spat, acid dripping from every word and fire blazing in her eyes as she finally looked at Ronnie. "Leave me alone."

Ronnie sighed heavily, watching Tana stalk down the hall and disappear into her room, slamming the door behind her. _Oh, God. Please don't let this be a horrible mistake._ He hid his face in his trembling hands, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his racing heart, letting the minutes trickle away one by one.

Slowly, he reached for his crutches and made his way back to his room, his trek nearly silent on the hotel carpet. _712...714...716...718._ He tried to fetch his room key from the back pocket of his jeans, but the crutch slipped from beneath his right arm as he reached back, and he lost his balance. Suddenly he was _falling falling falling,_ collapsing sideways into the door and then into the wall, his crutches crashing together against the wooden door.

In a panic, trying to catch himself, he tried to move his foot inside the cast as he fell and a wave of agony buffeted him as he flexed the splintered bones and pressed his foot into the padding inside the cast. Crying out in pain, Ronnie tried to clutch his ankle but met only hard, unyielding plaster, and he bowed his head over his knees, sobbing.

Smaller, softer hands than his own gripped his shoulders urgently, traced an invisible path through his hair, then gently touched his own hands, wrapped like a vice around his broken ankle. Cutting through his desperate weeping, a woman's voice whispered something in his ear - something that didn't even matter because the voice belonged to -

_ "Olivia,"_ he sobbed, leaning into his wife's embrace, "Liv, I couldn't - she won't let him go - I keep _failing_ him, I can't do _anything_ right, Livvie - I can't help him, I can't - I can't even open my own fucking _door,_ Liv."

Olivia just sighed and shifted her weight so she could sit more comfortably on the hotel carpet, squeezing him tightly against her chest. Her long, dark blonde hair fell into his face, wafting the sweet scent of vanilla through the air.

"Ohhh, it's okay, Ronnie. You did a good job, baby, you_ did._ You didn't _fail_ him, you did your best to help him...it's just that Tana thinks she's doing what's best for him, too. No one could ask for more from you, baby. You're a wonderful friend. He's gonna be okay, and so will you. I promise. It's _okay,_ honey. Everything will be alright. It's okay."

She sat with him in the hallway until he had run out of tears, glaring at the young housekeeper who dared to approach them, offering her help. When finally his tears were spent, she dried his cheeks and kissed his lips tenderly, caressing the back of his neck. Leaning over, Olivia collected Ronnie's crutches from the floor and supported his weight as he rose to his feet, wavering as he leaned on her.

She handed over first one crutch, then the other, and led her husband through the open door, her hand resting gently on his back. She told him the same thing over and over, her voice soft and soothing, as they readied for bed and fell into it together, exhausted. Until he finally fell asleep, sniffling in her arms, Olivia repeated her mantra:

"It's okay, Ronnie. I promise. Everything's gonna be _okay."_


	39. Chapter 39

The soft squeaking of Mandy's sneakers on the hospital floor the next morning announced her impending arrival - over the course of their stay, Tana had come to recognize the nurse's footsteps. _That's got to be a sign we've been here too long, if there ever was one,_ she thought dryly, smiling to herself and looking up from her knitting as Brandon's nurse appeared in the waiting room.

"Hello there, Mrs. Flowers!" Although always chipper, Mandy was especially cheerful today, her pale skin glowing and her unruly red hair tied back in a messy braid. "You've been summoned to breakfast with Mr. Flowers, if that's alright!"

"Oh! But - he asked for me, _really?"_

"Yes, ma'am, he did!" The petite nurse nodded vigorously and beamed back at her, nearly bouncing up and down in her excitement. _Ohh, interesting! He must be feeling good!_

Although Brandon had been eating small amounts of food for a few days now, he had never done so in front of anyone except his nurses. Mandy had recently confided that he found it frustrating and embarrassing that he had so much difficulty with such a simple task - "but it's silly, he's doing _so good,_ Mrs. Flowers! He's already so much better at it than he was at first!"

"Ronnie, Olivia, do you mind - "

"Oh, get out of here - go!" Ronnie grinned, waving her away. "We can handle the kids, right Liv?"

Olivia rolled her eyes at her husband and smiled at Tana. "Tell him we said hi, okay?"

"Of course!" Tana followed Mandy out of the waiting room, nearly walking into the nurse when she stopped suddenly and turned to face her.

"Mrs. Flowers, I just wanted to give you some pointers real quick, if you don't mind." She waited for Tana to nod, then continued, "I've mentioned that he's a little...self-conscious about his motor skills. One of the effects of his injury is a condition called ataxia; one of his doctors probably went over this with you already, but it causes his difficulty walking and his tremors, and he has trouble commanding his muscles and sometimes overshoots or undershoots when he's reaching for things. It might be permanent, or it might fade over time, we don't know - but right now, it's very difficult for him.

"He's been working really hard in therapy and practicing with us - shaving, eating, drinking, practicing buttons and things, and he's really doing a lot better already, but it takes so much concentration and focus to maintain his coordination. It's exhausting for him, and he's going to struggle with it for a long while, at least, if it's not permanent.

"If you can try to avoid speaking to him when he's actively trying to eat, that will help a lot. He's very easily distracted and he can only focus on one thing at a time. If he tries to listen to you, he might accidentally drop his food, or miss his mouth and stab himself in the cheek. It might make him feel better if you take your time with your breakfast as well, so he doesn't feel quite so slow and...inadequate, really."

"Oh...okay...I think I can do that," Tana said slowly, her lips pursed together in thought.

"Excellent. There's going to be a learning curve with all of this, for sure - for him and for all of you. Do you have any questions before we go in?"

"Um...no, I don't - I don't think so."

"Alright then, Mrs. Flowers, let's get you to your date!" The nurse winked and led the way down the hall to Brandon's room, knocking softly before she opened the door.

"Mr. Flowers, I've brought you a special guest!" Mandy chimed, moving quickly to her usual spot against the wall so as to not block her patient's view of his wife.

Brandon's massive, wonderfully bright grin was the first thing Tana noticed, and she didn't have eyes for anything else - only his beautiful face, shining with happiness that had felt so rare in recent weeks. She approached her husband on suddenly unsteady legs, reaching the chair at his bedside and sinking into it. _Oh, look at me, shaking like a little girl on her very first date!_

"Hi, Brandon." Her voice stuck in her throat and came out as a tiny whisper, at odds with the giddy butterflies in her stomach that were screaming their feelings to the heavens.

"Hi, Tana," he returned, a soft, bubbling giggle in his voice. The little laugh lines nestled in the corners his eyes were mesmerizing, and she was defenseless against them - surely they had always been there, they were nothing unusual, but they felt simply remarkable to her at the moment, like the evidence of his happiness was the most precious thing in the world.

"Oh my God, I love you!" A high-pitched, squeaky voice blurted out - for a wild moment Tana thought somehow a fan of the band had magically materialized and she looked around, startled. When she returned her gaze to Brandon's face, it took her a mere second of staring at her husband's ever-widening, bemused grin to realize that the voice had been her own, an uncontrollable, spontaneous outburst. "I - l - love - you," she gasped again, struggling to suppress the joyful tsunami swelling in her chest - suddenly Tana dissolved into helpless giggles, leaning forward and collapsing onto Brandon's bed in laughter.

_ "Wow,_ I l-love you too," Brandon chuckled, reaching out and carefully tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear so he could see her face again, his fingers lingering against her cheek for a heartbeat. "Are you o-okay? What's...what's so f-funny?"

"I don't - I don't know," she said, fighting to regain her composure, blinking owlishly up at Brandon as she lay half on top of the bed, her cheek pressed into his grey blanket. _Ohhh, it smells like him._ She sighed, then took a deep breath and slowly straightened, a huge smile still tugging at her lips. "I just...you made me feel like we were on our first date again, somehow, and I just...it's so _weird,_ baby, I was so _nervous,_ and I just - lost it," she grinned, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of her breakdown.

"Well, I can't...I can't t-take you to a record store again, but...but...I do - I do have the next b-best thing."

Mandy wheeled over a pair of bedside trays, placing one in front of Brandon and the other in front of Tana, then leaned down to retrieve something from the bottom shelf of the nearest tray...something red and white, and _oddly familiar..._

Tana lost her composure once more, giggling hysterically, her hand covering her mouth as she watched Mandy remove a pair of clear plastic lids from the box and toss them in the small trash can against the wall. Smiling, the nurse lifted the twin cups of frozen custard from the confines of the ice chest, placing each ceremoniously on separate trays accompanied by plastic spoons. "Brandon, this is ridiculous! It's only like eight in the morning! You can't have ice cream for breakfast!"

"S-says who? I'm...I'm an adult, Tana," Brandon teased, stars in his eyes as he gestured shakily at the cup of custard on the second tray. "This one...this is yours."

"No, no, no, it's yours! Mark was _very_ specific, Brandon - we're not to touch your custard on pain of death. It's _yours."_

"Oh, s-shut up and...and eat your c-custard, T-Tana," he giggled, his face nearly splitting in two from the size of his smile.

"We can't have ice cream for breakfast! Aren't you always telling the kids they can't have candy for breakfast?"

"What they d-don't...don't know w-won't hurt them," Brandon promised, snorting with laughter at his own joke and beseeching her with wide eyes, innocent and carefree for the first time in eons. "Come on, hun. P-please?"

_ Ronnie's right, those stupid puppy dog eyes...they're impossible._ Sighing, Tana gave in and picked up her plastic spoon.

"Okay, but we can't tell them. Ever. I mean it. We take this to our graves, Brandon."

"Deal."


	40. Chapter 40

"Good morning!"

Brandon looked up from his scrambled eggs at Ryan's cheerful, breathless greeting and smiled as the therapist struggled through the door carrying a bulky set of training stairs, huffing with the exertion, but Ryan grinned even wider at the sight of the half-empty plate.

"No rush, finish your breakfast, I know it's early. Take your time, _please_ \- eating counts as therapy too, you know!" The therapist settled the stairs by the window - just beyond the curtain, the sun was beginning to rise, painting the dark sky in shades of pink and orange. Ryan retrieved the vacant wheelchair from its place against the wall and moved it near the stairs, then fell silent and watched as Brandon ate his breakfast.

Ryan was pleased to note that he seemed to be having a much easier time with fine motor skills than just a week ago. His hand still shook, but he was clearly concentrating hard on every movement, doing his best to control his arm, and he seemed to be undershooting the plate less often.

Ten minutes passed before Brandon finally dropped his fork and looked back up at his therapist expectantly. "Brandon, you're doing _awesome,_ you know that? You've done a wonderful job working with Ernie, I'll have to ask him for tips next time I see him," Ryan winked.

"Now, it's exhausting to eat, I know, and today's a big day with me, so we're going to take a nice, long, ten minute break before we start working, alright?

In answer, Brandon merely lay back into his pillows, closing his eyes. Ryan sat in the chair by the wall, retrieving his notebook from his backpack and settling down to review his notes. Ten minutes later, he closed the book and looked up.

"Alright, Brandon, are you ready to work? Can you start by getting out of bed? We're going to do a lot of walking today, a longer distance than we've done yet. I think you're ready."

Brandon sat up and slowly moved to the side of the bed, dangling his legs over the side. Cautiously, he slid off the edge of the bed, then stood, swaying just slightly in place until he steadied himself against the mattress.

"Perfect, Brandon! I chose a slightly earlier time for today's session because we're going to take a little field trip, down the hall and back again, alright? I wanted to minimize the number of people in the halls - fewer distractions. The light is a lot brighter out there, and you'll probably get a headache at some point. I have sunglasses for you, but I want to see how long you can tolerate the light first - just let me know if you want to stop."

The therapist led the way to the door and held it open, watching as Brandon made his way slowly toward him, and then continued past him into the hallway, blinking unhappily in the bright florescent light. His gait looked _almost_ normal, being so fresh and well-rested - just slightly wild and unsteady, but not dangerous.

"Great, Brandon, can you stop there?"

Just outside the door, Ryan and Brandon stood gazing down the long hallway. Ryan fished a plastic stopwatch out of his pocket, then began to explain the exercise.

"This one is pretty simple, Brandon - we're going to do three laps of the hallway here, and I'm going to time you on each one - but please, please, _please_ \- don't rush. You are not racing yourself or anyone else. This is more a test of concentration, stamina and balance than speed. Speed is actually your enemy - you'll be more likely to fall if you try to hurry. I don't care how fast you're walking, really, I just need to know how your speed changes as you become tired. We will take a short break between each one, but I'd like you to stand to rest instead of sitting, alright?"

Brandon nodded, his eyes wandering down the hallway, trying to gauge the distance.

"Awesome, Brandon, whenever you're ready - walk to the end of the hallway, then turn around and come back to this spot, okay? With the painting of the desert on the wall. Take your time, slow and careful."

Ryan walked alongside Brandon the whole length of the hall, watching him closely. His gait was largely consistent until he reached the end of the hall, then he stopped abruptly, swaying in place. _I'm supposed to do...something._ He frowned at his feet, his eyebrows drawn together in consternation.

Ryan waited for a few seconds, then asked quietly, "Do you remember what to do next?"

Brandon shook his head, tears glittering in his eyes.

"That's okay, Brandon, it's perfectly normal to have trouble remembering multi-step instructions. It's okay. I gave you difficult directions, that's my fault - I'm sorry. I need you to turn around now - take your time - and walk to the painting of the desert on the wall - just there, do you see it?"

Brandon turned, nearly losing his balance and steadying himself against the wall behind him, closing his eyes.

"Let's take a break, Brandon, okay? We'll just hang out here for a minute, it's okay. Take a break, just let me know when you're ready to walk again."

A few minutes passed, then Brandon opened his eyes once more, blinking rapidly in the bright light. "Ready," he mumbled.

"Awesome, Brandon - we're just going to walk to that painting of the desert, just over there, can you see it? Take it slow."

Brandon nodded, standing still for a few more moments, then lurching forward suddenly. This time, his steps were faster, rushed and more obviously stilted and jerky, and he began stumbling over his own feet, Ryan hovering close behind him with his hands near his hips, ready to catch him. About a third of the way down the hall, he tripped and Ryan immediately seized his hips from behind, steadying him, then brought an arm across Brandon's chest, forcing him to stop.

"Whoa, whoa," Ryan murmured into his ear, "Careful, slow down. Relax, Brandon. _Breathe._ Something's hurting you - what's wrong?"

Brandon's face was pale and tense, but he didn't reply. He closed his eyes, leaning into Ryan's arm briefly, then ducked his head and brought his hand up to rub the back of his skull, fingers tracing the scars left behind by the accident.

"Are the lights hurting your head?" Ryan asked softly, coming around in front of Brandon. He nodded, his eyes shut tightly.

“We can go inside and take a break – or if you want to keep trying, I have sunglasses, maybe they would help.”

Brandon nodded, biting his lip hard enough to break the skin, drawing a bead of scarlet blood to the surface. Ryan retrieved a pair of dark sunglasses from his back pocket and opened them, then handed them to Brandon. With trembling hands, he tried to put them on – it took two tries, but then he stood, staring down at the floor through the dark glasses for a few seconds.

“I think – I th-think that’s…b-better. I can try again. Thank you.”

“Yeah, you were probably trying to get away from the light, weren't you? Let’s try again, then – can you walk to the painting of the desert over there? Remember, take your time – concentrate on every step, okay? You’re going to have to _think_ about what you want your body to do. Let’s go; walk towards the desert painting, just over there. Slow and careful. Watch your feet.”

Brandon took a deep breath, then took a small step forward, looking down at his feet; his steps now were deliberate - more cautious, and noticeably more stable. Finally, he reached the painting and slowed to a stop. He fumbled to remove the sunglasses and stared at the depiction of the desert, blinking in the harsh light. _Home._ Holding his breath, he grazed the outstretched arms of a Joshua tree with his fingers.

“It’s very pretty, isn’t it?” Ryan asked, watching him.

Brandon nodded absently, eyes fixed on the painting. “You…you h-have no idea,” he whispered.

“Do you want to take a break, or do you want to try another lap, Brandon?”

“Oh - oh...um…I – I can do another one," he said softly, tearing his gaze away from the painting and then looking back again, longing plain in his eyes. With a sigh, he put Ryan's sunglasses back on and reluctantly turned his back on the desert.

“Okay, perfect – let’s walk down to the end of the hall again.”

Two more laps took nearly twenty minutes, with a few small impromptu breaks interspersed when Brandon became distracted by passersby and activity in the hallway and forgot to continue moving.

Ryan offered encouragement and advice every time Brandon stopped, and his gait became even slower and steadier on the second lap, but the third was filled with reminders to mind his pace and pay attention as Brandon began stumbling and weaving from side to side in his weariness.

Finally, the therapist gripped his shoulder gently, bringing him to a halt, and beamed at his patient. “Perfect, Brandon! You just walked about 300 feet, you know – that’s actually about as long as a football field! You did so, so, so good - I'm so proud. You did great. We’re going to head back inside, let you rest up, alright? Here, your room is just ahead here…”

Brandon followed Ryan inside, sighing in relief at the darkness within, and he fumbled for the sunglasses, pulling them from his face and holding them out to the therapist.

“H-Here, these are – these are yours. Thank you.”

“Oh, you can keep those, it’s alright! You need them more than I do,” Ryan said softly, smiling at his patient.

Brandon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, but – but – I couldn’t. Th-They’re _yours.”_

“Not anymore, now they’re yours.” Ryan closed Brandon’s hand around the sunglasses, grinning at him. “Really, Brandon, you did _amazing_ today, I’m so impressed. We're so close to letting you go, _so_ close. You should be really proud of yourself.”

Brandon looked down at the glasses in his hand, then back up at his therapist.

"Thank you...but - "

"Nope, no buts. Take them, use them. I've got to run to a meeting, but I'll be back in a few hours for the rest of our session - at noon, okay? Take a good nap, please, rest up. I'll drop by the nurses' station and tell them to give you pancakes for brunch," he winked. "You earned it, Brandon."

Brandon blinked at the therapist for a second, and then a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"With...with b-berries, okay?"


	41. Chapter 41

Settling into her seat next to Ronnie and Olivia, Tana looked around the table at the large group of people gathered in the hospital conference room. _So many different types of doctors for one patient...I didn't realize so many people would be needed to take care of Brandon._

Some she recognized: Dr. Mavis, the neuropsychologist; Dr. Johnston, the neurologist; Mandy and the dark-haired nurse who chiefly shared Brandon's care; and lastly, Ernie and Ryan, Brandon's occupational and physical therapists. Many others she only vaguely recognized, and she found herself reading their departments and titles embroidered neatly onto their coats or printed on name tags.

Finally, after more than three weeks in Saint Luke's hospital, they were ready to discuss plans to discharge Brandon, and she was brimming with excitement and relief. Maybe a new beginning awaited them outside the walls of the sterile, stuffy hospital. A touch of trepidation lingered still, though, as she perused the thick binders of educational material they had been given. _They've done so much._ In addition to general information, each doctor and therapist had written up personalized recommendations - things for Brandon's caregivers to keep in mind, and how to treat him. There was also a section specifically for Brandon, then a third directed toward the children, written in a way that they could understand.

The neurologist, Dr. Johnston, shuffled a stack of papers and cleared his throat, then looked up as the room quieted, all eyes on him. "Alright, we have Mrs. Flowers, and...I'm sorry, who are you two?"

Tana opened her mouth to introduce Ronnie and Olivia, but Mandy was faster: "This is Ronnie Vannucci, Brandon's friend, and his wife, Olivia. Ronnie was hiking with Brandon when the accident happened, and they plan on moving in with the Flowers family to help take care of Brandon once...once he's sent home."

The doctor's lips thinned until they disappeared. "That's one thing we need to address right off the bat. Mrs. Flowers, with such an injury your husband is considered incapable of making his own medical decisions at this time. As his spouse, you have advance directive - you can make his decisions for him, and you have final say."

Dr. Johnston sighed, running a hand through his sparse blonde hair. "However...with the nature of his injury, it is our opinion as his medical team that he should be discharged into a rehabilitation facility that specializes in traumatic brain injuries - he is stable enough to leave this hospital, but he is _not_ ready to go home, Mrs. Flowers. We cannot recommend an inpatient rehab facility highly enough. The months just after an injury are critical for a patient's overall recovery, and what we do now will directly impact how much function he recovers. There are no adequate facilities in Utah, but we have referred Brandon to a rehabilitation hospital in Colorado that specializes in brain injury. That green folder there has all the information - "

Tana interrupted him, her eyes flashing. _"No._ I want to take him home. I can't - I can't send him away to live in another _state,_ for God's sake! He needs to be _home!"_

"Mrs. Flowers, this facility has housing on site for patients' families, you could all - "

"I said_ no,_ doctor. I _will_ be bringing him home. He needs to be home. We need him home. He can do outpatient therapy."

Around the table, several of the doctors and therapists wilted visibly at this pronouncement, whispering to each other behind their hands. Dr. Johnston sat ramrod straight in his chair and closed his eyes, sucking in a long breath and letting it out slowly.

"Mrs. Flowers...I mean no disrespect, but...well, you folks have no idea what you're dealing with, and you're simply not equipped to handle Brandon's care right now. He's very high-need at the moment, and it is very unlikely that he can be adequately accommodated in a home setting anytime soon. Don't be fooled into thinking that just because he can walk, he can talk, he can even feed himself with a lot of patience and perseverance, that he's not seriously injured."

Ernie raised his hand now, gesturing to one of the binders in front of Tana. "Mrs. Flowers, all of my observations and recommendations are in the binder by your left hand - the yellow divider there is my section. But I'd like to recap it all for you - I think you need a real idea of what you're walking into. The best way I can describe living with a TBI is this - it's like your husband has to grow up all over again.

"His emotional regulation was effectively ruined. He has to relearn almost all of the basic skills that we take for granted every day: walking, eating, just generally taking care of himself...and every second, he's aware that he never used to need help with any of it. He has trouble remembering five minutes ago, but he _remembers_ the first three decades of his life when he had none of these problems - it's frustrating, it's depressing, it's exhausting, and it's embarrassing."

Fiddling with the cap of his ballpoint pen, Ernie continued, looking at Tana, Ronnie and Olivia each in turn. "He's trying to learn how to live with vastly reduced stamina, a drastically impaired tolerance for his own mistakes, and with all of his emotions turned up to 11. When he drops a bite of egg, he reacts like it's the end of the world - because for him, it_ is._ It's a sign of everything he's lost - his coordination, his independence, his career, his confidence, his identity..._everything."_

_ God. My poor baby._ Tana blinked back tears, wringing her hands together under the table as she listened to the occupational therapist.

"I've provided a list of all the foods he's been able to manage so far - I'm afraid it's not much, only about two dozen or so, mostly softer foods, but I'd recommend sticking to it if you can and adding more as his next occupational therapist clears them. He will obviously need assistance with anything that requires cutting, with only one functional hand for the next few months.

"His coordination is best in the morning, or just after a nap, so I recommend that he eat and shower as soon as possible in the morning. He needs a strong routine, he needs predictability. Rest is_ paramount._ Doing the most basic things costs him so much energy, it takes so much concentration - just getting dressed in the morning will leave him feeling like he's run a marathon. You'll need to be patient with him and learn to adapt. Give him twenty minutes alone in a dark, quiet room to rest after meals, after showering, after conversations - _life_ is exhausting, and patience is key."

Ernie sighed, closing his eyes briefly and pursing his lips. "He needs a _lot_ of sleep right now, he's sleeping around sixteen hours a day - he _needs_ it to function at this point - his brain is trying to rebuild itself in his sleep, to repair all of those lost and broken connections. Eventually, his need for sleep should decrease, perhaps to nine or ten hours a day by the time he's a year removed from the injury. He will probably cycle between periods like this and periods of insomnia, which are typical with TBI but very damaging to a person's functioning. He'll need assistance with regulating his sleep cycle, and possibly sleeping pills from a psychiatrist to get back on track, but melatonin supplements would be a good starting point, as well.

"He can handle showering by himself as long as he is well-rested. When he's tired he's very easily confused, and his balance is also significantly more impaired - it's unsafe when he's tired. You may want to purchase a shower chair and number the bottles - his memory is not what it was before, and he gets confused easily. You'll want to label drawers with their contents, in large print, because he won't remember what's in them.

"He _can_ read, but it takes a great deal of effort to read anything of length. It would help him to practice in small bursts, perhaps five or ten minutes at a time - it tires him, but he does seem to enjoy it. Very simple board and card games are a good choice of entertainment, I've given you a list in the back. He might like audiobooks as well, on low volume and in short sessions. Writing is quite difficult for him and extremely frustrating, with the coordination trouble caused by the ataxia, but with time and practice, it should become legible."

Picking up a silver metal bottle from the table, Ernie unscrewed the cap and sipped his drink, then cleared his throat. "He has real trouble with screens - the flickering of the light, which most people don't even notice, is excruciating for a lot of people with brain injuries. Television, phones, computers, especially scrolling screens, hurt his head and cause headaches and migraines pretty quickly. You'll need to turn on the blue light filter settings on the screens permanently, or purchase filters for them, because the blue light can damage his sleep cycle - they also make glasses that filter the blue light out, if he prefers.

"His ability to plan, follow directions and make decisions have all been impaired by the injury - if you ask him to do more than one thing, like to put his coat on and brush his teeth, for example, he will probably only remember the first instruction, and he knows you asked him to do more, but he simply can't remember what it was, and he finds it upsetting. If you want to give him a choice, make it a choice between two options, no more - he won't remember.

"He should start keeping a daily planner - if his coordination improves to the point where he can write, he can take over, but for now someone will need to manage it for him - what to do and when to do it, every day. It will help him start to live a more normal life. He absolutely should not attempt to cook or drive until he is cleared to do so - I'd guess that will be several months away, at least."

Ernie sighed, then looked up at Tana and Ronnie. "Do you have any questions?"

"Is there...um...is there any chance at all that maybe he'll eventually recover enough to go back to the band?" Tana asked, her voice tentative, as though she wasn't sure she really wanted an answer.

The doctors and therapists all exchanged uneasy glances, clearly uncomfortable, until finally Dr. Johnston, the neurologist, cleared his throat. "Well, Mrs. Flowers...in brain injuries, we like to say that nothing is impossible, because we are surprised constantly. Many people do recover enough to return to work, whether it takes six months, a year, perhaps two or three years. However...unfortunately, I have never heard of someone with your husband's..._unique_ profession returning to work after such a serious injury. If it were merely a concussion, or if he had a desk job, I would be quite optimistic, but..."

Dr. Johnston trailed off, biting his lip. "It is not _impossible,_ I will say that. Anything is possible. We simply do not know what will happen. His injury is not the most serious that I have seen, and he is recovering rather quickly up to this point, even if he might not see it. He might in fact recover and be back at work within the year. It is _not_ impossible, but...perhaps not very likely. Certainly not to the same degree that he was performing at before. Inpatient rehab would increase his chances, but it is a serious injury and outcomes are impossible to predict."

The doctor tugged at his short hair with his stubby fingers, anxious. "But you will need to walk a very fine line between carefully encouraging him with the prospect of returning to his career, and - erm...gently tempering his expectations. Right now, we are fortunate to have a patient who is trying to participate in therapy and is motivated to improve, perhaps _because_ he expects to return to his job at some point. But...well, patients with brain injuries are very susceptible to clinical depression, and...I worry that if that's the goal he's working toward...well, what happens if he finally sees that it is impossible? It would not be an easy realization."

Dr. Mavis, the neuropsychologist, nodded fervently and cut in. "Mrs. Flowers, just transportation to his appointments alone would be very difficult. You have three young children who need care as well, and at this stage in his recovery, Brandon needs more support and attention than you can provide. He needs more help than even _we_ have the resources to provide. He needs a neurologist, a psychiatrist, a neuropsychologist, occupational, speech and physical therapy, all on an ongoing basis - he should have sessions with all three of those therapists every day, three hours a day. He needs vision therapy to increase his tolerance for light and screens and reading, and vestibular therapy to help his balance, his ataxia. He should be seeing a psychiatrist once a week - it's too early to diagnose, but we're already seeing some early signs that might turn into depression. His injury is not something to be trifled with."

The doctor started to continue, but hesitated for a long moment, then shook his head and forged ahead. "Frankly, Mrs. Flowers, you should consider having him see a grief counselor, as well. He is so...so _stuck_ on comparing his present self to the person he was before the injury, and putting himself down for not living up to those standards.

"There is a very common symptom of traumatic brain injury called perseveration, where the person is completely stuck in a cycle of one persistent thought, or action, or emotion, and they are unable to break the cycle on their own - it's like they're trapped in their own heads, like a broken record. Mandy says you experienced a taste of that when he was convinced that Mr. Vannucci here was angry with him, is that right? Nothing you said had any effect on what he was feeling, right?"

_ Ohhh._ Tana nodded absently, glancing over at Ronnie, who was blinking in surprise, looking vaguely ill._ That was actually part of the brain damage?_

Dr. Mavis paused, chewing pensively on the inside of his cheek. He glanced at Mandy, then turned his gaze to a dark knot in the honey-colored wood of the table. "Even if your husband presents to be in a good mood, inside he is _constantly_ dwelling on what he's lost: _'I used to be able to do this,' 'This should be so easy,' 'Why can't I do this?'._ That is inevitably a very dark and dangerous path to heartbreak, in my experience. It leads nowhere that you want him to go.

"Everyone involved in his life will need to learn to let go of the old Brandon and accept this new version - Brandon himself most of all, that is _critical,_ because he will _never_ be exactly the same as before, no matter how well his recovery progresses. He will always feel different, separate, from his old self and from everyone around him. The emotional lability - quick to cry, quick to anger, happy one second then crying at the smallest trigger the next second, wild mood swings - will probably linger for years, to some degree, even if he eventually progresses well enough to appear outwardly 'normal'.

"It's actually a lot like Tinkerbell, from Peter Pan - there's only room for one emotion at a time, and his emotions are all _very_ intense, and it's exhausting - both for him, and for his caregivers. He has some mild impulse control problems because of the injury, and even when he's trying to pretend to be happy, he sometimes slips and reveals what he really feels. 'Useless,' 'pathetic,' 'stupid,' 'a freak'...he uses some very concerning language, in my visits with him as well as with others, that sets off some very loud alarm bells."

Around the table, heads nodded, and Dr. Mavis fixed his gaze firmly on Tana, his eyes solemn. "Mrs. Flowers, the seriousness of a brain injury of this magnitude - the effects on someone's mental health, they really can't be overstated, and often those _are_ permanent even if the visible consequences of the injury disappear in time. It's...well, it's a loss of his identity, Mrs. Flowers, of his sense of self. We've been trying to boost his confidence, but...it's going to be a long road. He may need help learning to accept his loss and move on with his new self."

Tana bit her lip, fidgeting restlessly. "But...but he's going to get better, isn't he? I mean, even if he's not...not _exactly_ the same as before - he'll still improve. Won't he? Look at all the things he can do now that he couldn't handle a couple weeks ago!"

"Mrs. Flowers...it's true that he _may_ regain a lot of those capabilities, but he also may not, or certainly not to the same level. Regardless, he will _never_ be the same person he was before his accident. A brain injury like this...it leaves scars, even if the effects that you can see eventually fade. Brandon _needs_ to be in a dedicated rehab facility, Mrs. Flowers, in order to have the best chance of recovery."

It felt as though the walls were closing in upon her, and Tana struggled to organize her chaotic thoughts. "But...I - I don't want to - I can't let him go away again, what if something _happens?"_

"This hospital will allow you to live on-site, you'll be near him. Your children, too."

"But he would be there for months, and school starts soon, I can't take my kids out of school that long, away from their friends...I can't. I can't do that to them, on top of everything. He needs to come home. We can handle it."

Ronnie shifted uncomfortably in his seat and spoke up softly: "Tana, maybe you should listen - "

"Ronnie, are _you_ married to Brandon?" Tana snapped, clearly losing her patience.

A mischievous smirk crossed his face, apparently unbothered by her hostility. "Not_ legally,_ but - "

"Oh, just shut up, Ronnie," she hissed, turning back to the doctor. "You said I have the final say, and I say he comes _home._ I will not be swayed."

Soft sighs echoed all around the table, shoulders slumping in defeat. Dr. Johnston nodded, grim-faced. "If that's what you wish, then we will discharge him to you after his physical therapist determines it is safe."

Ryan spoke up now, looking uneasy. "We had a nice, long session this morning - he's pretty stable on a flat surface with no distractions, if you remind him to take his time and focus. That won't get him far out there, though," he added, waving vaguely at the hospital window.

"He'll need someone ready to help him on anything that's uneven or at all hilly, or if there are a lot of people around, a lot of noise, he might start to shut down - the real world is full of stimulation. Far too much stimulation.

"He...we can't really use assistive devices, he can't - it's actually_ less_ safe because not only does he have to pay attention to every step, but then he has to handle the walker or the cane, too. He doesn't have the capacity to do that, he doesn't have the attention span for it. But he can handle small distances on his own. He only needs to be able to handle stairs now, to have the very basics covered. But Mrs. Flowers, it's really best for him to go - "

"I said _no."_

Dr. Johnston sighed. "Yes, well...if you change your mind, his referral to the Craig Hospital will remain open for thirty days, and the information is in the folder for you call them and start the admit process - they will help with transportation to their facility as well. After thirty days, the referral will close and it will be more difficult and more involved to get him re-referred, you would need to have him admitted to a hospital in Utah first, and have them refer him to a facility."

Tana shrugged, her eyes steely. "He'll be fine, he doesn't need to go anywhere. We can handle it. We'll find all the best doctors and therapists, and he'll do outpatient therapy, and he'll be _home."_

Rubbing his face wearily, the doctor sighed once more. "Alright, then...you will need to sign a waiver, Mrs. Flowers, that you are choosing to bring him home against medical advice - "

"Fine, give it here, I'll sign it."

Olivia and Ronnie both broke in, interrupting her: "Tana, w - "

And then her signature was scrawled across the bottom of the waiver, and it was done.

"Do we need to do anything else here? My kids are waiting."

"No, Mrs. Flowers, that is all," Dr. Johnston said quietly, his eyes sad as he collected the waiver and placed it carefully back into his folder.

"Great. Thank you for everything you've all done, really. You've been very helpful, but we've got it from here. He's going to be _fine."_


	42. Chapter 42

A soft knock on the door caught Brandon's attention, and he looked up as Mandy slipped inside, bearing a tray of strawberry pancakes in her hands. _Ohhhhh!_

"Special delivery, Mr. Flowers," she grinned. "Ryan insisted, said you did really well this morning! That's wonderful!"

Brandon beamed back at the nurse as she placed the pancakes on the bedside tray and brought it over to him. "I d-didn't think he w-would - he would r-really ask for the - th-the - um...oh..._these,"_ he said, smiling at the little chunks of bright red strawberries baked into the pair of pancakes, a light drizzle of syrup glistening on top.

"Oh, Ryan takes patient rewards very seriously," she giggled, sweeping loose auburn hairs that had escaped her braid out of her face and grinning brightly at him. "He probably threatened the chefs for you and brought them the strawberries himself."

Brandon smiled at the thought.

"I stole a real fork from the staff break room for you, because I know how hard it is to try to cut things with a plastic fork," she added, nodding to the gleaming metal fork next to the pancakes. "Pancakes might be soft enough for you to cut them into pieces yourself, if you want to give it a shot - but please, ask me for help if you need it, alright?"

Brandon nodded absently as he reached for the fork, a small frown of concentration taking over his face. Mandy sat quietly by the window, trying her best not to distract her patient, and watched as he struggled to pick up the fork, falling just shy of touching it several times. Finally, he grasped his fork firmly, a ghostly smile lifting his lips - the first battle had been won - and sat still, looking at his breakfast.

His hand hovered near the pancakes for nearly a minute, his stomach tying itself in knots of anxiety. With a soft sigh, he slowly lowered the fork back to the tray, his hand shaking violently. _Come on, this is easy._ He bit his lip, staring at the pancakes until they blurred before his eyes, erased by emerging tears.

"Give it a try, Brandon," Mandy whispered gently from the window. "It will be alright."

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Brandon fumbled for the fork again and brought it to rest on the top of the short stack. Very carefully, Brandon tried to cut part of the pancake, but his hand slipped as he cut it free from the rest, and the bite jumped over the edge of the plate, landing on the plastic tray below.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry," he cried, hot tears slipping down his cheeks as he stared at the rogue pancake. "I c-can't...I can't..."

Mandy was there at once, swooping up the sticky mess with a wipe and crouching beside him. "Hey, it's okay, Brandon. It's okay. It's no big deal, honey."

He dropped the fork on the tray, flinching at the clatter it made as the metal hit the hard plastic below. _I can't even cut a fucking pancake. Pathetic._ Shame filled his heart, weighing it down inside his chest, and Brandon covered his face, sobbing into his hand. Mandy's voice continued for a while, whispering soothing nothings and then faded away. Soon, Ronnie's voice echoed in his ears - a product of his broken brain, mocking him, telling him everything was okay - _stop it stop it stop it - get out - leave me alone_ \- as he crumpled into himself, and suddenly very real, very strong arms enveloped him, hugging him tightly.

"Bran, it's okay."

_...wait. What...?_ He opened his eyes, blinking through the tears at a familiar orange and red-patterned Hawaiian shirt, and then his tears started anew, soaking the fiery colors.

"No, it's n-not!" he sobbed, digging his fingers into Ronnie's shirt desperately, like a drowning man clutching a life preserver in turbulent seas. "It's _not_ o-okay. Not...I c-can't do_ anything,_ Ron, I can't...I c-can't..."

"Ahhhh, I've got you, Bran. Come here," Ronnie whispered in his ear, squeezing him closer to his chest as his shirt was soaked with tears. "You're right, I'm sorry. It's _not_ okay. None of this bullshit that you have to deal with is okay. It's so unfair, Bran, it's...it's _so_ unfair. I'm so, so fucking sorry that you have to go through all of this shit, B. I've got you."

Ronnie held Brandon until he had finally quieted and slumped against his chest, exhausted. "I love you, Bran," he said softly.

_ I love you, too._ But he couldn't seem to force the words out, so he snuggled deeper into Ronnie's chest, sniffling, and gave him a long and fierce one-armed hug.

Several minutes passed in silence as Brandon slowly regained his composure, and then reluctantly, he relinquished his hold and pulled away. Ronnie fought back, squeezing him even tighter one last time before relenting. With a tremulous sigh, Brandon regarded the plate of cold pancakes once more with burning eyes, his stomach flipping apprehensively at the sight.

"Hey, look at me, please, Brandon."

Unable to tear his eyes away from the Mount Everest looming before him, Brandon was surprised when Ronnie gently forced his head away, guiding his chin with a careful hand.

"Please, just _look_ at me. Bran, if you want me to leave you alone now so you can fight with your pancakes in peace, I will, but I just...I just want you to know that I will happily cut your pancakes and your chicken and whatever else for the rest of my life, if you want me to, okay? _I do - not - care -_ what you can or can't do. I swear to God. I'm so, so proud of you, Bran, every second of my life. _So_ fucking proud."

Brandon bit his lip, his chin trembling, and stared down at his hand in his lap for a minute. "Th-Thank you," he whispered, not trusting his swollen throat to handle much more. "I love you."

"I love _you,_ little brother," Ronnie grinned, tears glistening in his own eyes now. "Do you want me to leave you alone so you can work on kicking those stupid pancakes' asses? Or do you want me to kick their asses for you?"

_ You're so dumb, Ron._ Brandon giggled tearfully, wiping his eyes roughly. "I...um...I c-can try again, I...I think."

"Aye aye, cap'n," Ronnie quipped, jokingly saluting Brandon and triggering another, more robust round of childish giggles. He leaned over and kissed Brandon's tear-stained cheek, then carefully wiped the tears from his friend's face, studying him intently. He moved to grab his crutches from their place against the wall, then hesitated and turned back to Brandon, his eyes serious once more.

"And _really,_ Bran, promise me you'll _try_ not to beat yourself up if you can't manage it. Please. _Promise._ Remember, this is your very _first_ try. And even if it was your billionth try and you still couldn't do it, me and Tana and your kids, we're all gonna love you just the same. Okay? I know it matters a hell of a lot to you, and I get it...but I swear, not one of us gives a single shit about it. _Promise_ me you'll try to be kind to yourself if you can't cut your fucking pancakes, okay?"

Brandon's eyes wandered back to the plate again - just the sight of it made him want to cry. _But..._he sighed, looking up at Ronnie.

"Yeah, Ron...I'll t-try. I p-promise."

The drummer's face lit up, and he leaned over to kiss his cheek one last time. "Thanks, Bran. That's all I ask, just that you _try_ to be nice to yourself. I _love_ you, okay? Remember_ that_ while you fight the Great Pancake Battle of 2019, okay?"

"You're...you're stupid," Brandon giggled, shoving Ronnie away lightly. "I l-love you, too, Ron."

"Okay, okay, I'm going," he grumbled, reaching for his crutches and rising unsteadily to his feet, then moving slowly to the door. "Bye, Bran. And thanks, Mandy, for fetching me," he added, nodding to the red-headed nurse stationed discreetly in her usual place by the bathroom.

"Bye, Ron," Brandon whispered, watching until the door closed behind his friend and he could no longer hear the sounds of his crutches against the floor. Returning to the pancakes, he fought the dread that threatened to drag his stomach down like a lead balloon. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take several slow, deep breaths. _It's okay, just try._

He fumbled for the fork once more, then brought it back to the top of the pancakes and pressed down carefully. He held his breath as the fork sliced through the first pancake, then the second, and he tried to focus on his arm, willing it to remain steady. _Come on, remember what Ernie keeps saying. Focus._ Lifting the fork away, he blinked at two small slices, stacked neatly atop each other.

"Look at that!" Mandy exclaimed softly, grinning at him. "You can do it, honey. You're doing so good. Slow and careful, right?"

Brandon smiled absently, eyes glued to the fragments. _I did it. I did it._ He took a deep breath and lifted the fork again, pressing it to a different part of the pancake and repeating the process, trying his best to keep his hand under control. Slowly, the pancakes were dismantled, painstakingly cut into dozens of small pieces. Brandon practiced diligently until the plate was filled with bite-sized scraps of strawberry-flecked pancake. Some had accidentally been pushed over the side of the plate, and many were mangled beyond recognition, but as he continued they became progressively neater. Nearly an hour passed, and he still had not managed a single bite, but as he finally replaced the fork on the tray, Brandon found he didn't care at all.

Sighing deeply in relief, feeling tension melt from his shoulders, he grinned at Mandy. _"Look!"_

"Oh, I'm looking, Mr. Flowers, you've done a wonderful job! I know that was so hard, but you _did_ it!" The nurse beamed back at him, glowing with pride. "You really did it, all by_ yourself,"_ she emphasized. "See, you _can_ do it. Do you want me to toss those in the microwave for you?"

Brandon hesitated, looking back down at the pancakes. "Um...I'm n-not...not r-really hungry...I think," he whispered sheepishly, suddenly realizing how tired he was - a bone-deep, painful weariness that seemed to suck all of his energy away.

Mandy shrugged. "I could put them in the fridge for you for later, after your next therapy with Ryan. I'm sure you'll be famished when he's through with you."

Brandon nodded, and she wheeled the tray off to the side, squeezing his shoulder softly. "Really, Mr. Flowers, I'm so, _so_ proud of you. This was huge," the nurse whispered, grinning at him again. "You should be really proud of yourself."

With a jolt of surprise, Brandon realized...he _was._ It had been so long since he'd been proud of himself, it was almost an alien experience. Shame, guilt, sadness, fear...yes, but pride...this was new.

"I _am,"_ he whispered, smiling up at her.

Mandy beamed back at him. "I'm so glad, Mr. Flowers." She glanced at a white basket in the corner. "Oh, honey, I'm supposed to change your bedding today, would you mind heading to that chair for me for a bit so I can take care of that, please?"

Brandon nodded, moving to the side of the bed and slowly rising to his feet, his hand resting on the mattress behind him as he stared at the chair by the wall. He pushed his tiredness away - _not now. Remember, slow and careful. Watch your feet._ One small step after the other, willing his rebellious legs to obey him, Brandon drew nearer to the chair, then finally turned and sank into it, gripping the side table for support. He looked up to see Mandy grinning at him again, brimming with joy.

"You're really doing _so_ good, Mr. Flowers, you know," she said brightly as she turned to begin stripping his blankets from the mattress. "So good."

"Th-Thanks. Do you - d-do you think...maybe I can go home soon?" he asked tentatively, fidgeting nervously as he watched her work.

The nurse sighed. "Well, honey...yes, soon. We had a meeting this morning with your whole care team, and your wife decided that she would rather have you discharged to home, instead of first to a rehab facility."

"Oh...isn't that good?" Brandon was confused; that sounded like good news to him - _home._ But Mandy looked upset.

"We just - we don't think it's a good idea. We're afraid you won't get all the help, all the therapy you need, at home. And we're afraid that unfair expectations will be placed on you, expectations you're not yet ready to meet."

Brandon's smile faded. _The kids...oh, God...the kids will want their dad back._ A sick feeling rose in his stomach at the thought. "Oh...I d-didn't think about...about th-that...well, she's only trying to help."

Mandy sniffed and didn't reply, pursing her lips together as she tossed his sheets into a basket.

"W-What do you...what d-do you think? Not ev-everybody..._you._ Do you think I can...I can g-go home, M-Mandy?"

Mandy sighed. "It doesn't matter what I think, Mr. Flowers."

"It d-does to me."

She smiled at him and touched his shoulder gently in silent thanks, then unfolded his new sheets and began to tuck them into place.

"I - well, truly, I think you need to go to a facility, honey. You can get more help there than you can living at home, being shuffled from one appointment to another. It would be tiring for everyone, you and your family. I don't think it's a good idea. But Mrs. Flowers...you know, she's only trying to do what she thinks is best for her family. It's a difficult decision at a difficult time."

Brandon nodded, guilt squirming in his chest. _Poor Tana...look what I'm doing to her._ "She d-doesn't need to d-deal with me. She c-can't..." he trailed off, biting his lip.

Mandy sighed, unfolding the blanket now. "You're _not_ a burden, honey, to your wife or to anyone else. She loves you, and you love her. In sickness and in health, isn't that what you both said when you married?"

"B-But this is...I'm so _weak,_ Mandy, she can't...she d-doesn't need any more stress," he whispered. "All I d-do is...is upset her."

The nurse abandoned the blanket in a lump on the bed and crouched in front of him, her solemn eyes level with his. "Mr. Flowers, you are many things, but _weak_ is not one of them, okay? You're _so_ strong, stronger than most people could ever dream of being. You're very kind, and you're determined, and you work hard. Those things will help you, and help your family, too. Don't worry about them right now. Your wife and your kids, they'll be alright. They just want you to be happy, and eventually, I promise, you will be."

She rose back to her feet, her knees cracking with the abrupt motion, and began to spread the blanket smoothly over the mattress. "Besides, Mr. Flowers," she added as she tucked in the sides of the blanket, smiling up at him. "That woman _adores_ you, it's all in the way she looks at you. Like you're the most beautiful thing she's ever seen in her life."

The nurse pulled back the top of the blanket and looked over at Brandon. "Ready to come back?"

He sighed, rising slowly to his feet and carefully making his way back to the bed. Mandy gripped his arm and helped him back into it, and smiled at him again.

"Get some rest, honey. Ryan will be back in about an hour, and you've already had a huge day," she beamed, gesturing to the tray holding the plate of demolished pancakes.

"Remember, be _proud_ of yourself, Mr. Flowers. You're amazing."


	43. Chapter 43

"Hey, Brandon?"

Ryan's disheveled dark blonde head peeked through the doorway, his face glowing with enthusiasm. "Are you ready for me?"

Brandon nodded, struggling to sit up as Ryan closed the door and turned back to him with a grin. "Hey, I just saw Mandy in the hall! She told me you cut up all those pancakes all by yourself? That's _seriously_ impressive, Brandon! Really, really, that's a huge deal. You should be proud! I am!"

Brandon smiled shyly at the therapist. "Yeah...t-took forever, though."

"Oh, who cares about that? You_ did_ it. You have to learn to be patient with yourself, Brandon. I know it's really hard, and it's easier said than done, because _everything's_ really hard when it used to be nothing to you, but...it will get better, I promise. I hear you're saving the pancakes for a reward this evening, right?"

Brandon nodded and shrugged. "W-wasn't... wasn't...I didn't w-want...want them then."

"Well, that's alright! Now - we're going to try to work on stairs this afternoon," Ryan said, gesturing to the training stairs sitting by the window and the vacant wheelchair resting beside them. "Often, stairs can cause vertigo at first - dizziness or nausea - or headaches, because we're trying to retrain your brain for them. But we'll take it slow, alright?"

Brandon sighed, blinking morosely at the stairs, and Ryan moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. "Hey - you can do it, Brandon. I _know_ you can. Look what you just did this morning! It's scary at first, isn't it - trying something new? It's terrifying. But this will be your first try, and then it will get easier and easier after today, okay?"

Brandon nodded and stood slowly, offering his therapist a faint smile.

"Awesome, go ahead and lead me to the stairs, Brandon. I'll be right behind you. Remember, take your time. Be careful. Watch your feet. Lead me to the stairs."

Taking a deep breath, Brandon walked toward the window, careful to keep his steps under control. He slowed to a stop at the base of the stairs, and Ryan stepped up to his side, one hand resting firmly against his back and the other gripping his shoulder gently.

"Alright, Brandon. I've got you, don't worry. Take your time; grab the railing...good. Now step up with your right foot...good. Up to the next step with your left foot...good! Up one more with your right...up with the left...up with the right...and the left. Look, you're at the top!"

Brandon clutched the railing so forcefully that his knuckles were white, breathing unsteadily. "That's okay, Brandon, we're going to just stand here for a bit and take a break, okay? It's okay, we're just going to rest here."

A few minutes later, Brandon's breathing had evened and he began looking around the room from the top of the stairs, more at ease with the height. "Okay, are you ready to head down?"

Brandon nodded slightly, and Ryan tightened his steadying hold on him. "Okay, down with your left foot...good. Down with your right foot...put your left foot down...and then your right...and again, your left foot down...and your right. That was awesome, you just did the whole thing!"

Brandon blinked at his feet woozily, gripping the railing tightly.

"You okay, Brandon?"

He shook his head, fighting to control his tongue and force himself to speak. "Dizzy," he mumbled, and suddenly Ryan was guiding him into the wheelchair, his hands firm but gentle on his shoulders.

"That's alright, we'll take a break. But look, you just did six stairs!"

He managed a weak smile for his therapist, but he didn't feel particularly accomplished as the room tilted and spun around him.

"Just let me know when you're ready to try again, alright?"

Brandon nodded silently and slumped back into the chair with a soft sigh, exhausted. "Ready," he whispered to the ceiling, nearly fifteen minutes later. Ryan looked up from his notebook and studied him, noting his heavy breathing and the dazed look lingering in his eyes.

"I'm not quite ready myself, Brandon, can you rest for another few minutes, please?"

Brandon didn't even bother replying, and ten minutes later, Ryan put away his work and stood.

"Alright, Brandon, let's take another shot at those stairs."

Slowly, he dragged himself to his feet and waited at the bottom of the little staircase for instruction.

"Okay, hold onto the rail...step up with your right foot - good! Left...yes. Up with the right...left...stay here for a bit...let's rest, we don't have to go all the way to the top. Can you turn around for me? And then back down again...good, good," Ryan said softly as Brandon returned to the floor, clutching the rail as he stood at the base of the stairs.

"Stop, s-stop...I think - I'm - I'm gonna be...I - " He closed his eyes, unable to finish the sentence, white as a ghost. Ryan swiped for a large plastic cup on the windowsill, holding it under his head just in time as Brandon lost the fight with his stomach and his balance at the same time, saved by Ryan's steadying hand on his chest, sandwiching him between his hand and his hips to prevent him from falling.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, Brandon, it's okay," Ryan whispered, guiding his patient into the wheelchair once more, rubbing his shoulder gently. Brandon's face was pale green as he wiped his face and took deep, shaky breaths, staring vacantly at the floor, his eyes brimming with tears.

"No, I'm sorry..." he mumbled, leaning forward, his elbow on his knee as he blinked tearfully at the floor.

"Brandon, it's really okay. There's nothing to apologize for. It's very normal, it's alright - absolutely nothing to worry about, I promise. You've been working hard."

Brandon shook his head slightly, his chin trembling. "No - n-no, I d-didn't...I haven't d-done anything...I can't...I c-can't do anything. I'm... I'm s-sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Ryan sighed as he crossed the room and deposited the cup of vomit on the side table and pressed the button for the nurse. Returning to Brandon, he sank to the floor in front of him, cross-legged, watching him sadly for a moment.

"You know...you just did _stairs,_ Brandon. Stairs are so, so difficult. They're a huge challenge. The part of your brain that controls your movement, your balance, Brandon, it's been hurt. You can't expect to manage them on your first try. You've been through the wringer. You did _so_ good, Brandon. So good."

Brandon just shook his head silently, avoiding Ryan's eyes, and the therapist squeezed his shoulder softly. "You did great work today, Brandon. I'm so proud of you. We're done for the day, take it easy, won't you? I'll see you again in the morning."

Ryan wheeled the chair to the bed and helped Brandon get settled just as a nurse entered the room, her long dark hair in a braid around the top of her head.

"Hey, he needs some anti-nausea and some pain meds, please," Ryan said quietly, crossing the room to retrieve the cup Brandon had been sick in and handing it to her.

"Of course, of course. Be back in just a minute, dear."

Ryan moved to the stairs and picked them up, placing them by the door near his duffel bag, then returned to Brandon's beside. His eyes were half-lidded and foggy now, clearly fighting sleep as he watched the therapist move through the room.

"Get some rest, Brandon. You did so much today - you walked a football field, you climbed stairs, _and_ you beat up some pancakes. I'm so proud of you. Get some sleep and I'll be back in the morning."


	44. Chapter 44

At long last, the day had finally arrived. Nearly a month spent in Saint Luke's hospital, and their time had finally come to an end. The final paperwork had been signed. Brandon had been cleared for discharge after several days of intensive preparatory therapy drilling him on walking and stair safety, building his endurance. Now, _finally,_ they could go home.

Tana waited near the open door to Brandon's room as Mandy prepped him and settled him in the wheelchair, dressed in his favorite red sweatshirt and black sweatpants, his faithful, cracked old hiking boots back on his restless feet. Ryan's sunglasses perched jauntily on his face, shielding his sensitive eyes from the light - _the only thing he's wearing that's less than five or ten years old,_ Tana noted wryly to herself.

"I d-don't need - I can...I can..."

"I know you can walk, dear, but it's hospital policy - and besides, it's a _very_ long way to your car, you know," Mandy teased, winking at Tana as she fended off Brandon's half-hearted protestations with ease. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride!"

Brandon sighed, but obediently fell silent, taking one last look around the room that had been his home for the last month. "Ready."

Mandy glanced at Tana questioningly, and she nodded, smiling. "We've got everything, I promise. We'll get out of your hair now, Mandy."

The nurse chuckled as she propelled the chair forward, turning slowly into the hallway to join Ronnie and Olivia as they waited with the children. "I'm not sure I _want_ you guys out of my hair, honestly. I've kinda gotten used to having Mr. Flowers around."

"We'll miss you, too, Mandy!" Ammon said, racing ahead of Mandy and Brandon to hit the button for the elevator.

"You guys have to promise me you'll be good for your mom and dad, okay?" Mandy asked softly as she backed the wheelchair into the crowded elevator car, smiling down at Ammon and Henry beside her. They nodded enthusiastically, and Ammon zipped his lips with his fingers.

The children had had a meeting with Brandon's neuropsychologist themselves that week, alongside Tana, and they had clearly taken their instructions for doing their part to help their dad to heart. All three were doing their best to keep their voices down around Brandon, and trying to avoid all speaking at once.

As the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, revealing the first floor, Gunnar slipped through and ran for the glass doors, waiting impatiently by the silver button on the wall engraved with a handicapped symbol as the rest of the group drew near. With a dramatic flourish, he pressed the button, grinning as the doors slid open in front of them.

"That's so cool," he whispered to Henry as he passed by, ruffling his little brother's hair with a grin. "You can open the car doors if you want, Henry! When Auntie Liv brings it, I mean," he added, watching as Olivia retrieved her keys from her purse and stroked Ronnie's arm in farewell before proceeding along the sidewalk to the nearby parking garage.

"Thank you, kids, you're all being very helpful," Tana said with a smile, then they all waited quietly, watching the cars drive by.

"Well, Mr. Flowers, I'm really going to miss you, you know," Mandy said softly, bending down so her mouth was near his ear. "You're gonna keep doing great, I _promise._ Just remember to be kind to yourself, okay? And take your meds, and your naps, and make sure you go to all of your therapy sessions."

Brandon turned his head, smiling slightly at her. "You...you s-sure you don't w-want...don't want to come h-home with...with us and - and move in?" he whispered, the mischief in his eyes hidden by the dark sunglasses. "We h-have room, M-Mandy."

Mandy smiled brightly at him. "Mr. Vannucci actually invited me yesterday, you two are clearly in cahoots. My answer is the same now - but I wish I could, honey. Thank you for the offer, just the same."

Brandon shrugged and returned his gaze to his knees as he sat in the wheelchair, sighing softly. Tana bit her lip, watching him. _He seems so sad...the last few days in particular._

"Brandon, are you okay?" she whispered, reaching for his shoulder and squeezing, hoping to reassure him. Her husband only sighed in answer, tilting his head gratefully toward her hand as it rested on his shoulder.

Tana's eyes were drawn to the long scar that sliced through the back of his skull, surrounded by short, dark hairs nearly grown back to their normal length. _He's been through so much._ Very carefully, she raised her hand and stroked his cheek, littered with the tiny nicks and cuts that were now everpresent. Small, ugly reminders of his constant struggle for independence.

"I love you," she said softly, touching his pale cheek again with soft fingers. He smiled and leaned into her hand, but his face was strained and she was certain that the smile didn't reach his eyes behind the sunglasses.

Finally, a familiar blue van pulled up to the curb, and Henry ran forward and jerked the passenger and side doors open, grinning at the group. "You m-make a good...a good d-doorman, Henry," Brandon said softly, smiling at his youngest as he puffed his chest out with pride at the compliment.

"Okay, Mandy and Ronnie, can you help Brandon in first? Ronnie and Brandon will both be in the back, then the kids will take the middle, and I'll be up front with Liv," Tana directed. She watched, her heart thumping loudly in her ears as Brandon rose to his feet and eyed the stair into the van uncertainly. Olivia lowered the middle seats into the floor of the van, allowing for easier access to the back row.

Ronnie laid his crutches on the carpeted van floor, the perched on the edge and swung his legs up beside him. Carefully, he crawled to the back row and heaved himself up on the bench seat, then dumped his crutches over the back, into the trunk with their luggage.

Brandon approached the open door and clutched the plastic grip tightly, and Mandy hovered just behind him. "Go ahead, Mr. Flowers. Right foot up, then left, just like you've been doing with Ryan."

Taking a deep breath, Brandon raised his right foot onto the wide plastic step, following with the left. Another step brought him onto the van's carpeted floor, and he straightened as much as the ceiling would allow and shuffled back to Ronnie, watching his feet studiously on the unfamiliar surface.

"Hey, little brother," Ronnie whispered, patting the seat next to him and reaching out to guide him into it. Finally settled, Ronnie stretched his arm over his chest and grabbed Brandon's seat belt, quickly fastening it before doing his own. "We're all set back here," he called softly through the open door.

Olivia raised the middle row of seats once again, and the children clambered in, whispering excitedly, and then Olivia and Tana took their seats as well.

"Alright, is everyone ready to start heading home?" Soft murmurs of assent filled the van, and Olivia pulled away from Saint Luke's hospital for the last time.


	45. Chapter 45

Countless colorful stores and restaurants flashed past as the blue van weaved through the Missouri highways, finally undertaking the long journey home. Looking through the window, Ronnie mused silently on the uncertainty of the future of The Killers; he had been through this area many times with the band, but...perhaps never again, now. _Maybe the band really is over. Who knows how much Brandon will recover? How long it might take?_

Guilt roiled unpleasantly in his stomach at the dark, unwelcome thoughts. _God, Bran, what have I done to you?_ He had been dwelling on that unanswerable question every waking moment since the night Brandon had stumbled back to him, bloody and broken...seemingly beyond repair._ But he'll get better. He has to._

Ronnie squeezed Brandon's hand gently, his fingers closed around the smaller, more elegant hand within. The drummer turned to look at his best friend, who sat nearly motionless beside him, his shoulder grazing his own, encased inside its ever-present navy sling. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, he fiddled one-handed with a Rubik's cube, trying to exercise the fingers of his injured arm.

He needed to see him, reassure himself that he was still there. _He's not dead. He's not dead. He has to get better._ No matter how much he wished it, though, there was no magic cure. Just thousands of hours of pain and confusion and hard, miserable work that awaited his friend, without even the promise of a pot of gold at the end.

Ronnie sighed, squeezing Brandon's hand slightly more firmly, and watched as his lips twitched upwards in response, the barest hint of a smile. A few heartbeats later, he squeezed Ronnie's own hand in return and looked up from his puzzle. His eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses, a parting gift from his physical therapist to protect his eyes from bright light.

"I'm tired," Brandon whispered, leaning his head on Ronnie's shoulder. His voice was so quiet that it was nearly entirely erased by the constant rush of air conditioning from the van's vents.

"You can sleep, B, it's okay - just not like that, you're gonna hurt your neck. Here - " Ronnie let go of his hand and reached across his friend's slim body with a grunt, fumbling for his seatbelt and unbuckling it. "You're gonna have to turn around and lay down facing me, though, so you don't lay on top of your arm and hurt it," he added, nodding at the sling supporting Brandon's broken left shoulder blade.

Brandon frowned, huffing quietly in consternation as he struggled to orient himself and follow the instructions. Ronnie waited a few seconds, then touched his arm gently. "Here, turn so your knees are facing the back of our seat - yeah, like that. Just like that, B. Go on, lay down - you can use me as your pillow," he said softly, patting his thighs and laying his own sweatshirt across his legs.

Brandon carefully stretched his body out across the length of the seat and rested his head in Ronnie's lap. "Thanks, R-Ron," he mumbled, sighing in relief as he removed his sunglasses - _three tries,_ Ronnie noted absently, watching the shaky movement of his hand - and dropped them onto the seat beside him.

"No problem, little brother. Go to sleep," Ronnie whispered, caressing Brandon's soft, dark hair and shuddering as he touched the smooth skin of his scar, his fingertips tracing the line of his fractured skull beneath the skin.

_ Way too close to that godforsaken mountain,_ he thought, swallowing the sour bile that rose in his throat. He fought to control his breathing as a horrible sense of déjà vu encroached on his moment with his friend and filled his heart with echoes of the lonely, terrifying night on the rainy mountain, forcing his broken friend to stay awake beyond his limits.

In his lap, Brandon tensed and rolled slightly backwards, trying to look up at him, blinking in discomfort at the bright light of the afternoon sun. "Ron...you o-okay?" he asked quietly.

_ Not this again._ The genuine concern in his eyes combined with _that_ question struck Ronnie like a physical blow, and he looked away quickly, back out the window.

"Yeah, Bran," he whispered, forcing the words out through the excruciatingly tight feeling that constricted his throat and his heart.

Several seconds passed in silence while Ronnie wrestled for his composure, and then a soft, featherlight touch on his cheek startled him. Ronnie glanced down in surprise to see Brandon trying his best to reach his face, but not quite landing, his fingers shaking visibly with the effort.

"No...n-no, you're not. What's...w-what's wrong?" he whispered, his voice soft, but bursting with earnestness. Suddenly, his hazel eyes turned mournful and misty, a terrible fear lurking in their depths. He drew his hand back slightly, shrinking away. "Did I - d-did I - "

"No, no, no, _no,_ Bran, it's nothing you did, I _promise!"_

Ronnie shook his head fervently, then caught Brandon's trembling hand in his own as it floated in space just a few inches shy of his skin. Cautiously, he raised his friend's fragile hand gently to his cheek. Ronnie allowed his own fingers to rest on top of Brandon's thin, spidery ones for a moment of comfort, before lowering his bulky hand and cradling his friend's back instead.

Brandon studied his face in silence, pressing his fingertips softly against his skin. Very deliberately, he stroked Ronnie's cheek with his thumb and then let his hand drop limply to the car seat. The strain of executing such a simple, precise movement was written all over his pale face in dozens of tiny wrinkles, but he continued to watch Ronnie for a moment more, blinking fiercely in the harsh sunlight.

"What's...w-what's wrong?"

Ronnie sighed and looked past him, unable to bear the worry that was so obvious - in his soft, sad eyes, in the slight trembling of his voice, in every painful, purposeful movement and the clearly herculean effort he was expending trying to concentrate on...on _him._

"P-Please...please, Ron."

"I just...sometimes, Bran, I get...I get _stuck._ Back on the mountain, you know? And I just...I don't know what to do, I don't know how...to_ not._ But it just...it _hurts,_ B."

For a long, agonizing minute, Brandon didn't respond and Ronnie stared blankly at the grey plush backside of the seat in front of him, fighting to slow his wild heartbeat and his rapid, shallow breaths.

"Oh." Such a tiny sound, but it was edged with distress that caught Ronnie's attention, and he forced himself to look down once more at Brandon's face as he rested in his lap.

"Like...like T-Tana," Brandon breathed, and Ronnie struggled to identify the emotion hidden in his friend's hazel eyes, which were beginning to cloud with fatigue as he stubbornly bore the bright light that battered him, streaming relentlessly through the car windows from all sides.

_ He can't have had the glasses off for even five minutes, and the light is hurting him already._ Ronnie forced that observation to the back of his mind - now was not the time to dwell on Brandon's endless difficulties.

"Um...well, yeah - maybe. Definitely not as bad, but I think...I think so, Bran, a _little_ bit. A little bit like Tana."

Another long pause, then: "Oh. Because...b-because of me?"

_ Shit. Fuck. Goddamn it._ "No, definitely _not_ because of you, Bran. Never. _Never._ This shit in my head, whatever it is...it's not your fault. If _anything_ is your fault, Bran...it's only your fault that I get up every morning. I love you _so_ much. It's your fault that I keep..._trying,"_ he whispered, cupping Brandon's pallid cheek in his palm and tracing his cheekbone with his thumb, echoing Brandon's own gesture a minute earlier.

His eyes were closed more than they were open now, fluttering constantly; the light was clearly taking its toll. Still, Brandon struggled against the pain, fighting to keep his eyes open, trying desperately to look at Ronnie, but the sun was quickly winning the battle with his beleaguered brain.

"I _promise,_ B, I _promise_ \- this bullshit in my head, _it is not your fault._ I'd never lie to you, don't you know that?"

"I know," Brandon mumbled, a trace of a smile lifting his lips even as his eyes were screwed tightly shut, tears sparkling in the corners. His face was harshly lined with pain and shining with sweat from the effort of bearing the sunlight.

"Go to sleep, Bran. It's okay. I love you. So, so much, you have _no_ idea."

"L'v you," came the soft, muffled reply, Brandon's weak voice barely even audible over the music playing quietly in the van's speakers and the soft rumble of the vehicle over the endless roads of black asphalt.

As the sun began to set nearly two hours into their drive, Olivia pulled over along the side of the highway, stretching her arms and flexing her fingers against the steering wheel.

"Is anyone hungry?" she asked quietly, turning to face the rest of the group. Ammon and Gunnar nodded, and Henry shrugged and craned his neck surreptitiously, trying to use the distraction to peek at his brothers' Uno cards. In the back, Ronnie raised his hand silently, winking at Brandon's youngest son as he cheated in his card game.

"Ron, where's Brandon? Did he melt away back there?"

Ronnie shook his head, a smile half-hidden by his grizzled beard. "Nah, he's asleep," he answered in a stage whisper, glancing down at Brandon resting peacefully in his lap, his hair curly and disheveled in sleep. His sunglasses lay in the nearby cupholder, carefully deposited there by Ronnie.

"Aww," Tana whispered, smiling back at the drummer. "Well, how about we go by a drive-thru? We could pick up a smoothie or something for Brandon, that should be manageable. It's on his list of approved things."

"Ooh, can we have smoothies too, mom? _Please?"_ Henry asked hopefully, perking up instantly.

She grinned at her youngest, unable to resist teasing him. "I thought you weren't hungry, Henry."

He squirmed and giggled, a laugh so like his father's that Ronnie's heart twisted in his chest. _God, I miss Brandon's stupid laugh._

"Maybe a _little_ hungry," Henry hedged, bashful and red-faced at being caught in his lie.

"Oh, why not? Let's _all_ get smoothies," Tana conceded, smiling at Henry. "We can get real food later, before we stop for the night." Hushed exclamations of victory - _"Yes! Good job, Henry!"_ and _"Ahh, thanks, mom!"_ \- filled the van as Olivia pulled back onto the highway, searching for the nearest fast food restaurant. Ten minutes later, six frozen fruit smoothies were clutched in warm hands - Tana put Brandon's in her cupholder for safe keeping.

"He might not want it to be super cold, anyway," she murmured to Olivia as she sipped her own strawberry smoothie, glancing back at Ronnie again. In the back seat, the bearded drummer held his drink awkwardly in his left hand. His right hand had been commandeered long ago by Brandon, who pressed his friend's palm close against his heart like a dragon guarding his most precious treasure, even in sleep.


	46. Chapter 46

The soft songs of a cricket choir filled the evening sky as the small family trudged into the hotel lobby, then to the front desk, their shoulders slumped in fatigue. Ammon and Gunnar controlled a metal cart loaded with bags while Brandon trailed behind them all, barely able to walk in a straight line, stumbling in exhaustion. _Tired._ The clerk - a young, pimply man with dark, curly hair tied in a ponytail - looked up from his computer and smiled half-heartedly.

"Hey, you folks looking for a room?"

Tana nodded, sweeping her hair out of her face. "Please, do you have any suites available?"

The clerk returned to his computer for a few seconds, clicking through their database as he checked the room inventory. "Ummm...oh, yeah, there's a suite on the fourth floor, a queen in a connected room with a pair of twin beds, will that work?"

"Please, and then another separate room with a queen bed, as well."

"Sure, sure," the young man said absently, fishing plastic keys cards from a drawer and activating them on his computer. Tana paid for the rooms and accepted the keys from the man. As she turned to hand Olivia the key to the room that she'd share with Ronnie, the clerk jerked his head at Brandon in the back of the group.

"What's wrong with him? You drunk, buddy?" the man snorted to himself, offering a lopsided grin to Brandon as he stood next to Ronnie, swaying in weariness, his eyes fixed on his feet behind his sunglasses.

"Shut your mouth and mind your own damn business," Tana snarled, whirling back to face the man at once, her body suddenly tense and charged with hostility. Ronnie stepped protectively in front of his friend, blocking the clerk's view of him.

_ What...?_ Brandon hadn't seen the exchange, but he had heard it, and he blinked blearily at the speckled brown tiled floor, trying to process what the clerk had said.

"Whoa, shit, alright, alright, I'm sorry!" the clerk backpedaled, raising his hands in surrender. Tana scoffed at him, her eyes filled with contempt, and herded the group away toward the elevators in front of the desk.

Brandon felt her soft touch on the small of his back, and saw his wife peer up at him, her eyes unusually bright. "Come on, Brandon," she whispered. "The elevator's just over here. We need to get you to bed, don't we? Come with me - go slow, okay?"

One foot after the other, Brandon allowed her to guide him to the elevator, and they all crowded in. "Hold onto the rail really tight, baby," she whispered in his ear, wrapping her arm around his hips to protect his balance as the slight jerk of the rising elevator unsettled him. A sick feeling was beginning to bubble in his stomach as he realized what the clerk had said - what he meant. _Oh...oh._

When the doors opened with a soft chime, the group filed out, searching the hall for their rooms. Walking briskly, Tana and Olivia quickly left Brandon behind, and the kids ran to keep up with them on shorter legs.

Slowed by his crutches, Ronnie stayed by Brandon's side as he struggled through the brightly lit hallway on increasingly unsteady legs. He saw the moment when his friend gave up and leaned into the wall in defeat, pressing his forehead into his arm against the wall, gasping for breath.

Keeping his voice hushed, he called down to the rest of the group. "Tana, Livvie, wait - slow down. You have to slow down, Brandon can't keep up."

Brandon closed his eyes, blocking out the world, and tried to control his heavy breathing. He could feel _everything_ very keenly, and he decided it was a supremely uncomfortable experience.

The floor rolled beneath his feet and and the wall trembled against his skin as Tana and the kids ran back down the hall toward him, a miniature stampede on the thinly carpeted flooring. He felt his knees shaking violently beneath him, nearly knocking together.

_ So tired. So tired._ Even behind the dark lenses of the sunglasses, the lights of the hotel had felt..._agonizing,_ like lasers slicing into his tired brain. Suddenly, Tana's voice was right next to him, nearly frantic with worry, and a squirming, fiery snake of guilt awoke in his gut, burning holes in his stomach. _Like she needs anything else to worry about...she doesn't need this._

"Oh my God, I'm sorry, Brandon - I'm _sorry,_ I wasn't thinking, I - I'm sorry..." Her apologetic touch on his arm felt closer to a static shock than human touch, and he flinched in surprise and leaned away from her, whimpering.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, baby...did I hurt you? I didn't mean - I'm - I'm _sorry."_ Tana was clearly near tears, her voice high-pitched and tremulous. He bit his lip and swallowed hard, forcing down the bile rising in his throat.

_ Don't be a baby, Brandon. You're making her cry - stop being a baby._ Taking a few more shaky breaths, Brandon opened his eyes and pushed away from the wall, trying to ignore the stabbing, throbbing pain that swelled up inside his skull as the hotel lights pierced his sunglasses again.

"S-Sorry, I - I can - "

Tana's eyes were wide, shining with tears as she looked back at him, and she raised her hand to stop him.

"No, no, it's okay, honey, you can rest...please. I'm sorry. Please, just _rest."_ She sighed, leaning against the wall herself, her hands hidden in the pocket of her yellow hoodie.

The snake in his stomach hissed unpleasantly as he noticed the worry lines carved into her beautiful face - embedded around the corners of her eyes, across her forehead. _Were those there...before? Am I doing that to her?_

Her voice washed over him again, this time strangely distant, as though it were travelling through a tunnel to reach him. "There's no rush. I'm just...all worked up over that stupid kid. Take your time, Brandon, _please."_

Brandon blinked at her for a few seconds, trying to summon the energy to resist, to keep going. He hated to hold her back, hated the thought of making her wait, but...finally, he succumbed to his body's demands and sagged heavily against the wall once more, closing his eyes. Such a horrible, creeping weariness had taken over his body, filling every one of his bones with lead, weighing him down.

Ammon spoke up now, his voice uncharacteristically soft and tentative, but echoing oddly inside his head. "Mom, do you want us to put our bags in our rooms? We can do Uncle Ronnie and Auntie Olivia's bags, too..."

"That would be wonderful, dear, please - Liv, can you give him your key? We're 414 and their room is 418, Ammon - see the number on the little envelope?"

The luggage cart squeaked away, such a familiar, oddly comforting sound...taking Brandon's children away with it, fading into nothingness. _This is wrong,_ a little voice inside his head lamented - a melancholic, wispy voice born of fatigue, hoarse and worn down. _They're taking care of you. That's not right, you know._

_ I know,_ he told the voice. _I know._ He had no idea how long he huddled against the wall, shivering. When he finally felt strong enough to continue, he opened his eyes to find that only Tana remained in the hallway with him. She sat cross-legged on the dark green carpet, her chin in her hand, her cheeks red and raw from wiping away tears. Dozens of darker yellow spots speckled the chest of her hoodie, marking the places where her tears had fallen.

_ Look what you've done to your wife,_ the little voice spat again.

_ I know._ He shook his head, trying to dispel the cloud of weariness that cloaked his brain, that covered everything like a spiderweb, and Tana glanced up at the movement.

"Oh," she said quietly, scrambling to her feet. "Are you ready to go, Brandon?"

He nodded, and she pointed to a door that stood ajar - all the way at the end of the hall.

"That's us, honey. Take your time. It's okay."

_ So far._ Brandon swallowed thickly as he stared at the door, then looked down at his traitorous feet and rickety knees. Ryan's voice filled his ears then, calm and soothing, erasing its sad, spiteful cousin. _Slow and careful. It's not a race._

One slow step after another, he forced himself to move. It felt rather like moving through quicksand, and focusing on each step felt like a marathon in itself, but eventually he reached the open door and passed through it, gripping the wall for support. As Tana closed the door behind herself and touched his shoulder, a silent congratulations, Brandon sighed in relief.

One more battle won.


	47. Chapter 47

With a huge rush of relief, Brandon collapsed onto the crisp white duvet of the queen-sized bed. His chest heaved from the exertion of the evening, and his skull throbbed in time with his quick, desperate breaths and his stammering, stuttering heartbeat.

He hadn't slept well in the van - every little noise battled for his attention, from the constant, soft drone of the radio to the hushed voices of everyone else in the vehicle. After hours of fitful, interrupted sleep, the struggle to climb out of the van, and then finally his doomed attempts to keep up with the group, following them through the lobby and down the hall to his room...it felt as though he had been running for days on end.

Brandon closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool duvet, hoping to calm the angry, persistent ache inside his head. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he felt was his wife's hand, gently stroking his shoulder.

"Brandon? Honey, Liv and I are gonna take the kids to dinner so you can rest, alright? You need some peace and quiet. Go back to sleep, it's alright. Ronnie will be here for you. It's alright. Go back to sleep," she whispered.

Brandon felt a breath of air on the back of his neck as she kissed the top of his head. He idly considered sitting up to say goodbye, but it seemed to be such a monumental, impossible task, and he couldn't find the energy to move. Pain was starting to build up in earnest inside his head, a deeply uncomfortable sensation almost akin to pressure...as though his brain might explode out of his skull at any moment.

He listened, motionless, as quiet footsteps bustled around the room. From the hallway, Ammon's voice floated into the room, sad and plaintive: "Mom, can't dad come with us? We'll be good, I _promise!"_

_ Oh, no...they think it's their fault. My babies...I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry._ Brandon could anticipate Tana's answer easily enough - and as a soft jingling announced that his wife was searching for something in her purse, she answered him, her voice strangely distant and distorted.

"No, dear, he's exhausted. You saw. He just needs to sleep right now, that's all. Besides, he's not ready to eat out, you know - it takes so much effort, and it's too loud, too many people..."

The door clicked shut, muffling her voice instantly, and he was left alone to ponder the wreckage his life had become._ So fucking pathetic. So weak. So useless._ An overwhelming, crushing tsunami of guilt and loneliness swept over him, combining with the physical agony in his head, and he dissolved into helpless tears, weeping into the pristine duvet.

A sudden creak of the mattress springs startled him, and Brandon jerked his head up so quickly that his head spun. He lay there, blinking the stars and salty tears from his bleary eyes as the figure of his best friend slowly swam into focus.

Ronnie perched on the edge of the bed, watching him. He reached out and brushed Brandon's arm with his fingertips, then sat in silence for another minute, allowing him time to wrestle for his composure. Finally, Brandon sighed, then rested his cheek against the back of his hand on the mattress, staring at the wall, and Ronnie spoke quietly.

"Bran, hey...what's wrong?"

A tiny sigh was all Brandon could manage in answer for a long while as he examined the minuscule cracks in the grey and white wallpaper. The horrific pounding inside his skull had only increased since he'd laid down, and concentrating enough to produce coherent words was...nearly impossible. Finally, the wallpaper lines blurred together in the dim light from the lamp by the door, and he closed his eyes, defeated.

"R-Ron...do I..." Unable to finish the question, Brandon squeezed his eyes shut tightly, rolling onto his back and reaching up to touch his skull lightly with trembling fingers, his jaw fiercely clenched against the pain. Pushing back a rippling wave of nausea, he forced shallow breaths into his lungs.

"Pills. D-Do I...do I n-need...do I need to...t-t-take my...m-my pills?"

A long moment of stunned silence followed his question, and then Ronnie slammed his hand angrily against the wooden bedpost, producing a sharp crack that sent Brandon cringing away from him with a cry of distress, flipping back onto his stomach and hugging his head, his injured arm pinned beneath him.

"Oh, fuck...fuck, fuck, _fuck_...you're right, B. It's like seven at night, you're overdue...some of those things are supposed to be every four hours, you're _way_ overdue, I'm sorry, Bran - God, I'm so sorry. Fuck, fuck...let me...fuck..."

Ronnie's profane tirade faded away as he rose and headed toward the door, crouching down. Kneeling awkwardly by the pile of luggage in the corner of the room, he fumbled through their bags, ever more frantic.

"Shit, fuck, shit, _fuck_...c'mon, you stupid little fuckers...fucking hell. Bran, hang tight, I'm gonna go check my bag...where are they? God, I hope Tana didn't take everything with her. _Fuck."_

The door crashed against the wall with his last word, sending a flash of blinding white light and fresh shockwaves through Brandon's skull. Tears streamed down his face and soaked the duvet as he clutched his head, trying to press his skull into the soft mattress and stifle the pain, whimpering.

Multicolored circles grew and shrank again in the blackness behind his eyelids, bright starbursts of agony, and Brandon bit his lip until he tasted sour, coppery blood on his tongue.

The next several minutes passed in a heartbeat and then Ronnie came careening back into the room clutching a large plastic bag filled with white-capped orange bottles against the grip of his right crutch. He was so quick on his crutches that he nearly slipped on the hardwood floor of the entry way, banging his plaster cast against the open lid of one of the hard-sided suitcases.

"I - I got them," he gasped, grabbing a water bottle from the side table and flinging it onto the bed, his face white as chalk and shining with sweat. He dropped his crutches carelessly and fell onto the bed beside Brandon, fumbling for the bag with slippery fingers. "Don't worry, I got them, Bran," he whispered again, dumping the bottles out onto the duvet.

"Ohh, you don't look good, B," Ronnie murmured, glancing up anxiously as he sorted through the medications. "Umm...here, this is for pain...oh, this one too..._wait,_ this one too...do I give you all of them at once? Fuck! _Fuck!"_

His voice was hoarse and choked with tears now as he stared at the bottles hopelessly, muttering to himself.

"Use your brain, Ronnie - what did they tell us? Where's your stupid giant binder? God, Bran, you're overdue on...almost all of these, I think. I'm sorry, I'm sorry...God, I'm so sorry!"

Ronnie hobbled back to the corner and unearthed a three inch binder from the depths of a red suitcase, then tossed it onto the bed and stumped back after it. He sank back onto the mattress and flipped through the pages frantically, skimming a page near the end of the tome.

Quickly, he separated five bottles from the rest and looked up at Brandon once more, wincing at the sight of his friend curled into a pitifully tiny ball on the mattress, his arm wrapped around his skull as closely as possible.

"Here, can you sit up?" he murmured, stroking his friend's arm lightly. The touch felt like a match held to his skin and Brandon flinched and hissed in pain, curling even tighter into himself while he shook his head, a very slight, nearly imperceptible movement.

"I'm sorry, I'm _sorry,_ I didn't mean to hurt you - God, please sit up, Bran. You_ have_ to. You'll feel better soon, I promise. Please. _Please_ sit up."

Brandon heard the urgent, pleading note in his friend's voice and attempted to lift his head, but stopped cold at a renewed onslaught of pain. "Hurts," he murmured, hating the high-pitched whine in his voice.

"I know, Bran, I _know._ I'm sorry, this is all my fault. Tana put me in charge of your meds for the trip home, and I'm fucking it up as usual. I'm sorry - God, I'm _sorry_...but you _have_ to sit up, Bran, I have all your pills here for you. Come on, _please?_ I promise you'll feel better soon, I _promise_ \- just sit up."

Even the barest, breathiest whisper Ronnie could manage felt like a scalding hot knife in his brain, and he pressed his skull harder into the mattress, whimpering in agony. Suddenly, he felt Ronnie's hands on him, gripping his shoulders firmly and then pushing his chest back, forcing him to sit up.

He blinked woozily through the dizzying haze of flashing light and ever-changing shapes floating through his field of vision, fighting back a wave of nausea and watching as Ronnie tilted a small orange bottle and pinched a large white pill in his fingers.

"Open your mouth, Bran,_ please._ Don't make me force you to take this. Please."

He tried to obey, but the slightest motion of his jaw sent ribbons of fire blazing through his skull, and he could only tuck his head deep into his chest, hot tears trickling down his cheeks.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Ronnie whispered, and then he was forcing Brandon's head up with a hand under his chin, then pressing both sides of Brandon's jaw just in front of his ears with great strength, compelling him to open his mouth. He slipped the pill inside with deft fingers, then held the water bottle to his lips, squeezing it gently.

He swallowed hard, washing the water and the pill down his throat, and they both sat quietly for a time. Brandon closed his eyes against the faint glow of the white duvet in the dim light, consumed by the flames inside his brain. Ronnie stared down at the four pills left in his palm, his chin trembling, tears slowly trickling down his cheeks and disappearing into his beard.

Nearly twenty minutes passed in silence while Brandon cradled his head in his hand, whimpering, waiting for the raging wildfire in his brain to dissipate. Finally, the worst of the pain melted away, fizzling out like hot coals in the rain, and he sighed in relief, opening his eyes hesitantly.

"Okay," he muttered, nodding at the remaining pills in Ronnie's hand, holding out his own hand. Wordlessly, Ronnie dropped one into his palm, biting his lip, unable to look Brandon in the eye.

Shaking visibly, he tried to bring his hand to his mouth, missing the first time but finding success on the second try. Ronnie held the water bottle to his lips once more, and carefully, Brandon swallowed the pill.

The next three pills went quicker, as the pain in Brandon's skull continued to fade and his coordination and ability to move improved, and finally, they both sat in silence again, exhausted.

"I'm sorry," Ronnie muttered into the darkness, staring at the wall as he sat in front of Brandon on the bed, his voice uncharacteristically tremulous, hollow and broken.

"D-Don't...don't be," Brandon whispered back. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch his friend's hand as it lay in his lap. "Please, Ron. I - I c-couldn't. I _couldn't_...it's...it's okay. I...I _promise._ It's okay."

He paused for a moment, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, acutely aware of the slow decline of his racing pulse.

"Thank you, Ron."

Ronnie sat quietly for a long minute, then he touched Brandon's hand in return, a soft, apologetic gesture. Brandon carefully turned his palm upwards and held Ronnie's hand in his own, squeezing gently. His friend sighed shakily, his tearful eyes fixed on their intertwined fingers.

"I promise I'll do a better job of keeping you on schedule with your pills, Bran. I _promise._ I'm so sorry, I'm just...so, so, so fucking sorry. I can't believe I let it get that bad. It's like it was _killing_ you, I...I'm sorry.

"I _hurt_ you, but...but I'm supposed to be _protecting_ you," he whispered, staring at the menagerie of orange pill bottles that littered the center of the mattress.

"You are," Brandon whispered, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. Arrested by the multitude of drugs, Ronnie didn't see his face, and Brandon playfully leaned into his shoulder, drawing his attention.

"Hey. You _are,"_ he repeated firmly, his smile growing as he squeezed Ronnie's hand again.

Ronnie smiled back gratefully, then leaned forward and sighed, resting his head on Brandon's shoulder for a moment. When he lifted his head again and returned his gaze to Brandon's face, his eyes were sad.

"You haven't even been out of the hospital for _twelve hours_ yet, B - and we've already hurt you. I'm sorry. We're _failing_ you. I'm so...so, so, _so_ fucking sorry. God, Mandy was right. They were _all_ right. You shouldn't go home yet. You need to be in rehab. You need _help."_

Brandon's heart cracked, and he felt the fragile golden glow of happiness encased within it spilling out, fading away into the darkness beyond. He pulled his hand away from Ronnie's, tears welling in his tired eyes again.

"You're...you're s-stuck...you're stuck b-babysitting me n-now...aren't you? I'm...I'm s-s-sorry. I'm sorry. I'm _sorry."_

A soft little choking sound escaped Ronnie's lips, and he spoke so quickly that he tripped over his words, his voice cracking with emotion. "No no nonono, oh, _no,_ fuck, that's not - that's not what I meant, Bran! Not - not at _all_, I...God, _please,_ please don't think of yourself like that, Bran, please."

Brandon bit his lip, tasting blood once again as he ducked his head and blinked away his tears. Ronnie sighed, rubbing his weary face with his hand.

"Please, just look at me, Bran."

He waited a few seconds, and Brandon could feel his eyes burning more holes into his heart as he sat in silence, his own eyes resolutely downcast.

_ "Please,_ Brandon. Look at me."

Very gently, Ronnie pushed his head up, his index finger beneath his chin. Brandon continued to stare down at the snowy duvet, unable to bear looking him in the eye.

"Brandon, please..._please_ listen to me. I'm not 'stuck' doing _anything._ You know there's nowhere I'd rather be than with you - nowhere in the whole world. You_ know_ it, I know you do, somewhere in your head, it's still there, I _know._ You're my best friend, B. I _love_ you. I want to help you, I want to just..._be_ with you. I _love_ you. I _love_ you, Bran."

A battered dam suddenly gave way inside Brandon's broken heart and he crumbled into Ronnie's chest, sobbing. His friend's arms folded around him, holding him close, rubbing small circles into his back.

"I'm - just - s-so - I'm so _tired,"_ he gasped, tears rolling down his cheeks and soaking Ronnie's shirt. "I'm _tired,_ Ronnie...every single...every f-fucking _second._ I d-don't...I don't w-w-wanna...I don't wanna f-fight any...anymore."

"Oh, little brother, come _here,_ please...I love you, I love you, I love you...I _love_ you."

Brandon nodded against his chest, clutching a handful of the back of Ronnie's shirt for dear life. "I...I love _you,"_ he choked out, forcing the words past the lump in his throat, hugging his friend as tightly as he could manage.

Ronnie's chest heaved as he sighed, and a whisper of air preceded a gentle kiss on the back of Brandon's head, directly over the ugly, ropy scar that marked his shattered skull.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," the drummer whispered in his ear again, tracing patterns absently into Brandon's back with his hands. Gradually, his tears subsided, leaving a terrible, profound weariness in their place as he sagged into Ronnie's chest, utterly spent.

"Go to sleep, Bran. You can rest now. It's okay, I've got you. I love you. You're _safe,_ I promise."

Brandon felt another kiss land softly on the top of his head, light as a feather, and he smiled slightly into Ronnie's chest, the last of his sadness melting away into oblivion.

"I love you," he mumbled, squeezing his friend again with the last of his fading strength, and Ronnie let out a tiny, breathy laugh, resting his chin atop Brandon's head.

"I love you too - so, so much. Now shut up and go to sleep, Brandon. _Rest._ I _love_ you."


	48. Chapter 48

"Brandon? Ronnie?! _Brandon!_ What_ happened?"_

Tana burst through the open door, her voice shrill and panicked. Footsteps thundered down the hall toward them behind her - she had left everyone else in the dust. Ronnie looked up, bemused and alarmed, flapping his hand frantically to quiet her. _Oh fuck, I never closed the door! Fuck!_

She froze, seeing Brandon safe in his arms, and closed her eyes, swallowing hard. "Oh, thank God," she sighed. Taking deep, steadying breaths, she leaned against the wall, slumped in relief.

Behind her, Brandon's children filed in nervously, followed by Olivia, who pushed her way to the front and hovered at the end of the entry way, her hair disheveled and her face starkly pale. She glanced at Brandon, and spoke in a harsh, shaky whisper.

"Ronnie, what happened? Is Brandon okay? Are _you?_ Did someone break in? Our door is hanging open, so was this one, there's a _hole_ in the damn _wall_ here, and your suitcase has stuff flung everywhere, all over the room - same with these," she added, glancing down at the ramshackle pile of suitcases beside them, several of which still lay open where he rifled through them, searching for Brandon's medication.

Ronnie shook his head, pointing at himself and then at the door and the suitcases, quirking his lips apologetically. The whole group sighed in relief as one, and the boys began to rush toward Brandon. Ronnie held up his hand to stop them, then held his finger to his lips, gesturing for silence and glancing pointedly down at Brandon nestled into his chest, sound asleep.

"Oh, sorry," Gunnar whispered. He had come to an abrupt halt, and was looking around to make sure his brothers were obeying as well. He grinned brightly at his father as he slept, then milled uncertainly around the door to the room he would share with his brothers that night.

Wordlessly, Tana waved at him and pointed to the boys' bags by the door, then to their room with a soft smile of thanks. Gunnar nodded and picked up his own bag, grunting as he heaved it into the air with both arms so that it wouldn't drag along the floor and disturb his father. One by one, the boys disappeared quietly into their room with their luggage, closing the door behind them.

Ronnie watched them go and held his hand up to his ear, miming a phone, then pretended to type in the air. Olivia let out a tiny 'oh' of comprehension and retrieved her cell phone from her pocket, crossing the room and handing it to him.

Behind her, Tana's wide, bewildered eyes were fixed on the wall by the door - out of Ronnie's line of sight, but apparently the wall was the proud owner of a brand new hole.

_ Shit, guess I slammed the door too hard,_ Ronnie thought guiltily, wincing at the prospect of what the undoubtedly _very_ loud noise had done to Brandon, already wracked with pain. _Fuck. I was so loud. I was only making him worse. I'm so fucking sorry, Bran._

Swallowing visibly, Tana swept her blonde hair out of her face, then looked to the care binder lying open on the bed, her eyes travelling over the many bottles of medication strewn across the middle of the bed. Finally, her anxious gaze came to rest on her husband as he slept securely against Ronnie's chest, wrapped in his arms. She smiled softly at him, sighing.

Offering his own wife a grateful smile, Ronnie nodded to Tana and unlocked Olivia's phone awkwardly with one hand - the other belonged to Brandon for now. He navigated to her text messages, opened a conversation with Tana, made eye contact with her again, and began to type.

_ 'We've got to be quiet, I don't want to wake him up. He only JUST fell asleep, maybe half an hour ago. Maybe less - no clock in here. He's really fucking wiped out. Sorry, the door and the mess was all me. I did it. I panicked, I forgot to close the doors. Sorry._

_ 'We had an incident. Forgot his meds. They were all wearing off at once. Sorry. SO sorry - my fault. Had to go get them. The hole is mine too. I must've slammed the door handle into the wall trying to get out.'_

Tana's phone vibrated in her hand, and Ronnie watched anxiously as she read the message, tilting the phone so Olivia could read as well. Her expression darkened as she read, and Ronnie swallowed hard as she glared briefly at him, then began to type, nearly stabbing her screen with her shaking thumbs.

_ 'YOU FORGOT HIS MEDS?! IS HE OKAY?'_

Ronnie sighed, returning his gaze to Brandon as he contemplated the wisest answer to that question. _Is he okay? Nope, definitely not. Absolutely not. Very, very much not okay, Tana. The opposite of okay._ Fast asleep, Brandon clutched Ronnie's hand against his own chest, lovingly holding it captive near his heart.

_ That's really becoming a habit,_ Ronnie noted with a warm surge of affection, studying Brandon's face closely for a moment. It was waxen and strained, not relaxed and innocent as it usually was when he slept. His cheeks were still ruddy with tear stains, and a slight shadow of a frown lingered on his face, even in sleep.

Ronnie bit his lip, unable to suppress a shiver as he remembered an identical frown marring Brandon's face only a month ago as he lay in his lap on the mountain, unconscious. Broken. _Dying._ Because of him.

Another memory drifted through his mind, fresh and garish, painting in vivid detail the agony that had been carved into his friend's beautiful face just minutes earlier, grotesquely contorting his features - once again, because of_ him_ and his neverending failings as a friend.

Ronnie's heart twisted in anguish, imagining the horrific effort it had clearly cost Brandon just to speak to him through it at all. His eyes were drawn again to the faint frown and worry lines on his face as he slept now. _God, I hope he's not still in pain._

Tana tiptoed toward the bed and settled gingerly near its foot, joining Ronnie in his silent Brandon-gazing with such a sad, wistful expression that Ronnie's heart ached for her. _They don't deserve this bullshit. No one does._ He sighed again, staring at the empty text message screen with its idle, blinking cursor. Waiting.

_ 'The thing in the hall was just the beginning, I think. When he couldn't walk anymore. It got really, really bad after you all left. Awful. The worst, hardest thing I've ever seen. Like the worst headache you've ever had in your life, x100. He was crying. Whimpering. He couldn't even MOVE.'_

Ronnie blinked at the message for a few moments, then sent it and watched their faces. Olivia stood over Tana's shoulder, reading along with her. Sudden understanding bloomed on Tana's face, almost immediately erased by fleeting anger, and then desperate worry and pity as she looked at Brandon again. No doubt she had noticed the red streaks that stained his cheeks, evidence of recent tears.

_ 'I had to find his meds, looked in here - guess I panicked, forgot I had them in my bag. Got them and brought them back, but he couldn't even talk to me by then. Just crying. He kept pressing his head into the bed, like he was trying to bury his head or something. It was horrible. Like a fucking bomb had gone off in his brain.'_

Ronnie sent the message and moved onto typing another, not bothering to look up for a reaction. He had to get it out. _All_ of it.

_ 'I thought he was dying. I tried to ask him to sit up so I could give him his meds, but he wouldn't. I begged him to sit up. He wouldn't. He COULDN'T. I had to make him sit up, physically, I had to drag him up. He couldn't even open his mouth for the pill. It hurt too much. I had to force his mouth open, I had to shove the pill in and force water down his throat. I had to FORCE him. I thought he was DYING.'_

Ronnie hit the button to send the message and took a great, shuddering breath. He paused to study Brandon's face once again, drawing strength from him, and then forged on.

_ 'Took him like half an hour after all his pills to get back to...functional. He's so messed up, he tried to APOLOGIZE to me, said he was sorry I was 'stuck babysitting him'. He kept apologizing, like three times. He said - '_

Ronnie froze and sat staring blankly at the phone again, pondering his unfinished message as he struggled for the right words. He swallowed the herculean-sized lump in his throat and again, his eyes were drawn back to Brandon's face and the ghostly frown etched into his features. _Fuck it. He needs help._

_ 'He said he's tired of fighting, Tana. That he doesn't want to fight anymore. He doesn't want to LIVE anymore.'_

His thumb hovered over the send button for a long minute, trembling. A memory suddenly echoed in his head - Brandon's voice, fearful and pleading, begging him:

_ "Please, Ron - I - I told YOU, not her. She can't...she d-doesn't...she doesn't need to be dealing with me. Please. I c-can't...I can't keep hurting her...p-please. I told YOU. I - I trust YOU."_

Ronnie closed his eyes, feeling his heart crack as he admitted defeat. _Ahhh, fuck. I can't. I can't do this to him. He's already had almost all his control over his life stolen from him because of me...I can't do this._

Sighing, he deleted the last few lines, and replaced them with a single, short sentence:

_ 'You should talk to him in private - he needs you, I think he's upset.'_

As he hit the button to send his censored message, he lost his battle with his own emotions, and a great sob rose up in his aching chest.

_ Fuck. 'I think he's upset?' Try 'I think he's fucking suicidal, Tana.' Fuck, Bran. Fuck._ At the sudden sound and the jerk of his torso, Brandon stirred against him, his eyelids fluttering.

"R-Ron...Ron, you o-okay?"

Ronnie blinked down at his friend in astonishment, then his sobs morphed into a tearful, hysterical laugh as he leaned over his friend and hugged him tightly against his chest.

"Shut the fuck up, Brandon," Ronnie whispered tenderly in his ear, inwardly marveling at his single-mindedness, even while half-asleep. _Always the same question, isn't it?_

"I'm fine, little brother. I _promise."_

Brandon's eyebrows creased in confusion, and he blinked owlishly at him, a dim and hazy awareness beginning to replace the drowsiness that clouded his eyes.

"N-No...no...you - you w-were...c-crying. Why? What's...w-what's wrong?"

"Oh...I just love you, that's all, B. That's all. I promise. I just really, really love you. I love you a _whole_ lot. Go back to sleep, it's okay. You're safe. I love you. It's okay. _I'm_ okay. I _love_ you."

"Kay...l'v you," Brandon mumbled, giving Ronnie one last, long look that pierced his heart like an arrow, his foggy hazel eyes filled with absolute trust.

"I love you, too, Bran. Go to sleep," Ronnie whispered, and he watched as his friend sighed and closed his eyes, surrendering to sleep again. He swiped at his own eyes violently, banishing his tears. _Please, please let me have done the right thing. I can't betray that kind of trust. I just...can't. He can't keep hurting Tana, but...I can't keep hurting him, either._

A tiny sigh caught Ronnie's attention and he glanced up to find Tana biting her lip in worry. She seemed suddenly very uncertain and vulnerable, staring at the messages he had sent her. She looked at Brandon for a minute, and it felt to Ronnie as though she wished she could run away. Finally, she nodded, sighing heavily, and whispered:

"I can _try_...I'll try to get him to talk to me. I'll talk to him in the morning, if you'll take the kids away somewhere, Ronnie. Please."


	49. Chapter 49

Long after his children had awoken and been shuttled off excitedly to breakfast and a trip to the mall with Uncle Ronnie and Auntie Olivia - after Tana had packed their bags, eaten her own breakfast and skimmed through several sections of his care binders, taking notes in her phone...finally, Brandon opened his eyes.

Sitting beside him in bed, her back resting against her stiff and bulky pillow, at first Tana didn't notice him. He lay there in silence, watching as she read the comics in the morning newspaper she had retrieved from the hotel lobby. She giggled, and he smiled.

"What's...what's so f-funny?"

_ Oh!_ Tana sat up suddenly, ramrod straight, crushing the newspaper in her lap and staring at him with wide eyes, feeling a bubbly grin spread across her face.

_ "Brandon!_ You're awake!"

He just looked back at her, studying her face intently as though he hadn't seen her in weeks. "Hi," he finally whispered, a tiny, tentative smile lifting the corners of his lips.

She folded the newspaper and dropped it onto the beside table. "The boys went out with Ronnie and Liv, they took them to breakfast and then they're going to go shopping - they'll be back in about two hours, so we can all relax before we have to check out."

"Oh." Brandon's eyebrows were woven together in confusion now, and he stared at the newspaper for a moment, then slowly examined the hotel room - Tana had the distinctly odd impression that he was searching for something. "Where...w-where are we, Tana?"

She blinked in surprise. _Of course - we never did actually tell him what city this is, I suppose - he slept the whole way here, didn't he?_ "We're driving home from the hospital, honey. To Utah. We're staying in a hotel in Kansas right now, in Wichita. You left the hospital yesterday. Do you remember?"

His bewildered expression grew, and his eyes fell from her face, down to the mussed hotel bedding. "Um...I - I don't...I d-don't know. I remember _b-being_ in the hospital. I remember...Mandy. And then I just...I remember...being here. W-With - with Ronnie." A spasm of pain crossed his face, his eyes distant and unmistakably sad.

"I'm so sorry we left you and Ronnie all alone last night, Brandon," she whispered, reaching out to touch the back of his hand gently. "We - I wasn't thinking, I guess. I'm sorry. I hurt you."

He drew away from her slightly, and Tana bit her lip, trying to brush away her own pain at his response to her apology. _Did I say something wrong?_ If anything, he looked even _more_ upset now - not at all comforted.

"Brandon...what's _wrong,_ baby? I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry. We won't let anything like that happen again, I _promise."_ He just shook his head, silent, his dull eyes downcast, avoiding her worried gaze. She could hear his breathing now, audibly rough and stilted - he was near tears.

"Is it your head? Does it hurt? Here, baby - you just woke up, you probably need your medicine," she said awkwardly, stretching her arm blindly out to the bedside table and grabbing his bag of medications and the bottle of water she had left there in preparation.

Recalling the instructions from his medication sheet, Tana emptied the proper morning dosage from each bottle into her palm, and sat blinking at the miniature mountain of pills in her hand - _so many._

"Here, do you want to take them yourself, or...?"

In answer, Brandon merely flattened his own hand, braced against his thigh, his fingers outstretched, and she dropped one into his palm. She watched the course of his hand as it rose to his mouth, depositing the pill inside, and then reached for the bottle of water in her other hand. His face was stony, determination setting his jaw and tightly lining his eyes. She let him take it, deciding it might be best to just let him do whatever he felt he could handle.

As the pile of medication in her palm slowly diminished, Tana watched as her husband's hand grew ever more unsteady - first merely trembling, and then he began missing his mouth as he tried to take the pills. _He's tired. He hasn't even been awake for an hour - he hasn't even stepped foot out of bed yet, and he's already so tired._

As he finally managed to swallow one of the last pills, leaving only two remaining in her palm, she shifted uncomfortably against her pillow and spoke, watching his face carefully.

"Brandon, honey, do you want help?"

He shook his head, still resolutely avoiding eye contact with her, but his hand lay in his lap, unmoving and limp, and his eyes were half-lidded in exhaustion, his jaw slack. He made no move to extend his hand for another pill.

"Please, Brandon. Let me help. You're doing so good, but you're tired. It's okay. I just want to help you. _Please."_

He bit his lip, shaking his head again - but again, didn't attempt to reach out for his medication. His chest rose and fell in abrupt, jerky motions - once again, he was trying with all his waning strength to keep his composure.

_ He doesn't want to cry in front of me. He doesn't want to be weak in front of me._ The realization struck Tana hard, like a boulder slamming into her chest, whisking her breath away and leaving her cold. _We've never...that's never been an issue before. Never._

"Brandon," she breathed, blinking back her own tears now, _"Please._ Please, please let me help you. You help me all the time - every single day of my life, honey. Every damn day. I want to help _you_ now. _Please._ Can't you just - just at least _look_ at me?"

He shook his head a third time, just the barest hint of movement, and dropped his gaze even further and examining his hands instead. Tana had an unsettling feeling that some kind of decision had been made in that moment. Sure enough, Brandon soon unfolded his trembling fingers on top of his thigh once more, and Tana felt her heart crack as he did so.

Dutifully, she dropped the medication in his palm, and her heart sank as she watched his hand rise, shaking violently, to his mouth. One - two - _three_ tries before he managed to put the pill in his mouth. He reached for the bottle of water, pulling it from her numb fingers and bringing it to his mouth. One more pill, gone.

Tana closed her eyes as Brandon reached out for the last one in her hand. Sighing, she gave it to him, and stared at her knees while he took it - but she couldn't block out the harsh, pained sounds of his breathing as he struggled to control his arm.

She could practically _feel_ him willing his hand to obey him. She listened to the violent sloshing of the water as his hand rebelled against him, his broken, tired brain no longer able to control the muscles. If the bottle had been more than half full, it would be spilling over onto his skin, she was sure.

Finally, Brandon fumbled with the lid, closing the bottle and dropping it carelessly to the floor, and it was done. And now they sat miles apart, though just inches from each other on the bed. Tana could no longer contain her whirling mind.

"You don't - _Brandon,_ you don't trust me, do you? What did I do? I'm _sorry,_ whatever I did. I'm sorry. I'll fix it. I'll fix it, I swear. Just - just _talk_ to me. Tell me where I'm going wrong. Please?"

Brandon gave no indication he had heard her, and he swayed where he sat, looking alarmingly pale, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. She bit her lip hard, fighting back a sob, and placed her hand on his back, guiding him gently back down to the mattress. This time, he offered no resistance to her help - all the fight and strength in him had vanished with the last of his medications.

"Go to sleep, baby. You should rest."

Many minutes passed before his body finally relaxed and his breath evened out in sleep, but for a long while after, Tana sat next to him, alone.


	50. Chapter 50

"Brandon? Honey, wake up," Tana whispered, touching her husband's shoulder gently. His forehead wrinkled, but his eyelids didn't even twitch. She tried again, shaking his shoulder.

"Baby, wake up."

He blinked drowsily up at her, and she smiled hesitantly. _He might not even remember what happened with his meds, he might not have meant it that way, he might've just not been thinking straight...act normal._

"Do you want to try to take a shower and have breakfast before Ronnie and the kids come back?"

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Come b-back...back f-from where?"

"Ronnie and Liv took the kids out to breakfast earlier. Do you want to try to take a shower before they come back?"

He blinked slowly at her for a minute, then struggled to sit up. "Oh...um...yeah. I c-can...yeah."

"Can I help you take your sling off, Brandon?"

He looked down at his arm for a moment and nodded. She reached for the velcro strap on his other shoulder and unfastened it, gently removing the sling.

"How does your shoulder feel, baby?"

He gave a little half-shrug, testing the arm. "It's a-always...it - it hurts. It's okay."

She bit her lip. _How can I make this easier for him?_ Remembering his absolute refusal of her help earlier, she took a deep breath. "Do you want...would it be helpful if I labeled the bottles for you with a Sharpie before you go shower? So it's easier to read?"

Brandon nodded, and she offered another tentative smile and reached out to squeeze his shoulder gently. "Okay, I'll go do that and put out some of your clothes in the bathroom so you don't have to sort through the whole suitcase, okay?" He just smiled slightly at her in response, but the smile wilted a little as she turned away and he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her work.

"Okay, Brandon, you can come take a shower now," she called softly as she finished, slipping out of the bathroom after turning the water to a comfortably warm temperature.

He lurched to his feet, his hand trailing along the bedspread for balance, and she noticed as he approached that his gait was significantly steadier now than it had been in the hallway the night before. _God, how did we miss how tired he was? How did we not question if he needed more medicine? It's pretty damn obvious how he feels, all you have to do is look._

"Let me know if you want help with anything, baby - be careful, take your time, okay?" Brandon nodded, and she caught his hand in her own as he drew near, squeezing firmly. "I love you," she whispered, looking up at him in time to catch a glimpse of worry in his eyes as he looked down at their hands. _What's that about?_

He smiled at her briefly, then let her hand go, and she stepped out of the way. Brandon slipped inside and closed the door quietly, and Tana let out a soft sigh of relief. She crossed the room and settled back onto the bed, returning to her newspaper.

Nearly fifteen minutes passed before the water turned off, and then almost twice that time before the door opened and he emerged with damp, unruly hair. She noticed with a burst of surprise that he had avoided choosing the Killers shirt she had laid out as one of his choices and picked a faded old red shirt instead.

"Hi," she said brightly, rising to her feet and crossing the room to the miniature refrigerator. "Are you hungry, Brandon? We picked up some yogurt for you on our way back yesterday, if you want it."

Brandon shrugged nonchalantly, but he sat on the edge of the bed and accepted the spoon and open cup of yogurt from her without complaint, holding the cup gingerly in his left hand, still free from the confines of his sling. Remembering the cautions in his binder about distracting him, Tana resisted the urge to make conversation and simply picked up her newspaper again, settling next to him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Brandon as he ate - here, his fading stamina was obvious. When he had surprised her with his custard that morning in the hospital weeks ago, he had been fresh and well-rested, and his hand had been nearly steady - at least at first. The effort of showering and dressing this morning had clearly stolen most of Brandon's energy, and both of his hands trembled visibly now.

Halfway through the yogurt, he took a break, allowing the spoon to rest inside the cup, and she nearly asked if he wanted help. Seeing the tightness of his face, though, and the determination that set his jaw, she decided against it. He clearly wanted to do it himself. Sure enough, a few minutes later he resumed, finishing the yogurt. He nudged her gently, holding it out for her, and Tana smiled.

"Perfect," she said softly, taking the cup and standing, stretching her legs. She moved to the little trash can and dropped it inside, then retrieved his sling from the table and sat back down beside him, showing him the navy sling.

"Here, honey, let me put this back on before you hurt something." He held out his arm for Tana, allowing her to replace the sling and fasten the strap around his other shoulder, and offered her a small smile of thanks as she finished.

Tana took a deep breath and stroked the back of his hand gently, gathering her courage. _I need to talk to him._ Her heart thumped so loudly inside her chest that she wondered for a moment whether Brandon could hear it.

"Brandon, baby, will you talk to me? Please? You just...you seem so sad all the time. Please, can I help? You always help me when I'm sad, honey. Let me help you."

He withdrew from her very suddenly, visibly leaning away - shrinking, like a tortoise seeking safety inside its shell. Tana's heart sank. _"Brandon,_ please. I just want to help you. _Please._ Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Brandon said nothing, and she sighed. "That's okay, I can wait," she whispered, drawing her feet up onto the bed and hugging her knees while she watched her husband. His body was tense, as though he would have run away if he'd had the energy to move. The strain of the morning was written across his face in dozens of tiny lines and wrinkles and he sat blinking vacantly at his feet, steadfastly ignoring her.

Finally, Tana could stand the silence no longer. "Brandon, please, just say something. _Please._ Am I...am I doing something wrong?" He glanced up at her briefly, and she caught a flash of stark fear in his hazel eyes, chilling her bones. _Oh my God...he's afraid. Of what? Of...me?_

"I _am?_ God, Brandon, _please_ just talk to me. Are you _scared_ of me? What am I doing wrong? _Please,_ honey. I can't fix anything if I don't know what's wrong." Brandon only bit his lip, tucking his chin into his chest, and hugged himself with his one usable arm. Tears sparkled in his eyes for a moment, and then he closed them, hiding even his tears from her.

"Just _talk_ to me, Brandon," she pleaded, feeling her heart crumbling to pieces as she watched him. "Please. I just - I don't - _fuck,_ Brandon - it's like I don't even _know_ you anymore."

His shoulders stiffened instantly as the last sentence slipped from her lips, and Tana knew she had made a mistake.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I'm sorry - Brandon, I'm _sorry,_ I didn't mean - "

"You did," he finally whispered, interrupting her, his voice raw and broken. "You did."

She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he shrugged her hand away, rejecting her. "Please, Tana. Just - j-just leave me alone."

"No, Brandon, pl - "

_ "No,_ Tana. Please...p-please stop. I...I can't."

"But - "

"I said _no,"_ Brandon hissed through clenched teeth, his soft voice shaking with emotion. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at her, but she suddenly wished he hadn't. His eyes were dark and sharp with anger now - he was furious.

She watched, silent, as her husband took a deep, shuddering breath, then pulled his knees into his chest and pressed his forehead into them. His hand curled into a tight fist partially hidden in his hair, his knuckle bones shining white through the taut skin. There was a long moment of silence, and then Brandon closed his eyes once more, and mumbled into his knees.

"Please...p-please just..._listen._ Leave me...l-leave me _alone._ Please."

Tana opened her mouth to beg him again, but caught herself just in time. _I'm not helping him. He thinks I'm not listening to him._ She let out her breath in a long, tremulous sigh, then rested her chin on her knees, watching him through blurry, teary eyes.

"Okay...if you want. I'll try."


	51. Chapter 51

Ronnie hobbled along behind his wife and Brandon's three boys, watching as they all crowded around the Flowers' hotel room door. Ammon carried a paper shopping bag, beaming down at it with pride.

Olivia knocked softly on the door, her ear up against the wood. They waited for a time until the door clicked open, and Tana peeked out, her finger held to her lips for silence. Ronnie narrowed his eyes - her hair was tangled and disheveled, and her blue eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. A faint flame of hope stirred in his heart. _She's been crying. Maybe Brandon really did manage to come clean?_

One by one, they all crept inside, closing the door quietly behind them. Ronnie's eyes were immediately drawn to Brandon as he slept curled on the bed, his back to the rest of the room. He raised his eyebrows at Tana, a silent question, but she shook her head, pursing her lips - _ahh, damn it_ \- before Henry tugged on her sleeve and took her attention away.

"Mom, look!" he whispered, bouncing up and down on his balls of his feet and pointing at Ammon's bag. "We got dad some stuff that might help!"

"Oh!"

Tana leaned over to peer inside the bag. Ammon held it up for her, but didn't open the bag, glancing over at his father, and whispered, "I don't wanna wake dad up, but we used our chore money! We got him earplugs and puzzles and coloring books, so maybe he can have something to do with us when he's feeling a little better," he said quietly, biting his lip uncertainly. "Since he can't...you know, he can't really do music right now."

Tana grinned, hugging Ammon tightly and waving her younger sons over for a group hug. "I think that's a great idea, it's wonderful! We'll have to try them out when he's feeling better, you're right. How thoughtful!" She took the bag from him carefully, wincing when the paper crinkled loudly as it switched hands, and placed it gently beside her suitcase.

"We still have an hour and a half until we have to leave, so I thought we could just all take naps - being stuck in the car so much is exhausting, even if you're not driving, right? Just make sure you guys are all packed first, make sure you have everything."

The kids disappeared into their room, and Ronnie made his way over to Tana. "Hey, how'd it go?" he murmured, nodding at Brandon.

She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but looked at her husband and seemed to think better of it. Instead, she walked to the door and opened it, motioning them out into the hall. Ronnie and Olivia obeyed, and she followed and closed the door behind her.

"I gave him the first dose of all his pills when he woke up and it wiped him out because he insisted on taking every one himself, and that's just - you know, it's a lot of fine motor control, a lot of focus. All the things he has trouble with. I felt horrible, he was so tired...he couldn't finish taking them, but he kept refusing to let me help, either."

Tana scrubbed her face furiously with her hand and sighed, before looking back up at him with tired eyes. "It's_ so_ damn hard to watch, Ronnie...I mean, I kept asking him to let me help, but he_ forced_ himself to keep going and take them all himself just so that I didn't have to help him. He looked like he was gonna pass out after he finally got the last pill, he was just so - so _done._

"We're fucking _married,_ helping each other is the whole point. But he won't...he won't let me. I don't get it - I know they said his judgment and decision making is impaired, and he just gets stuck on things, maybe that's what this is? Brandon just absolutely refuses to let me help him. He took a nap, then a shower and had breakfast all by himself, too - so he'll be tired today, he's working hard - and then I tried to talk to him, but...it was a _disaster."_

She took a deep breath, shifting her weight absently from foot to foot, her hands buried in the pocket of her yellow sweatshirt. "He wouldn't talk to me at all, he just ignored me for a really long time. I kept asking him to talk, to let me help him, and then finally he just snapped, he said he couldn't talk to me. He just told me to leave him alone. He was so _angry_ with me.

"I just - I don't know, Ronnie, it just feels like he doesn't _trust_ me - at all, really. I feel like I'm doing something wrong. I - he won't even let me see him _cry,_ he was trying so fucking hard not to cry and with how hard it is for him now to control his emotions at _all_...it felt like he slapped me, you know? It's like he's _scared._ I just...I don't...scared of what? _Why?_ I don't _know,_ I don't understand. Am I doing something wrong? Am _I_ hurting him?"

Ronnie sighed, glancing at Olivia, feeling his heart sink. "God damn it, Tana, I'm sorry. I don't know - maybe he's just not _ready._ Maybe we just need to respect that and wait for him to decide to talk on his own."

Tana dropped her gaze to the carpet, tears shining in her eyes. _"Maybe,_ but I - he's so_ sad,_ what if - what if he hurts himself? I don't know if he's even capable of planning anything, but if there's a chance, I - I don't know...I've made him appointments with all his new therapists and the psychiatrist, the neuropsychologist - starting next week after we get home and after he's had some time to rest, so hopefully we can get all that going and that will help."

Ronnie shifted uncomfortably on his crutches - he'd been on his feet too much, and his good leg ached unpleasantly. "Um, Tana, have you given any more thought to putting him in rehab? Proper rehab?"

Her eyes flared suddenly, and she straightened at once, her voice sharp as nails. _"No,_ Ronnie, we've been over this, I can't - I can't just send him _away._ That's ridiculous. We can get all the things he needs at home, we just have to be careful with our planning. We can take care of him."

"Oh, is _that_ what we're calling this? Look at him, he's falling apart!"

The snide words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was thinking them, and a sharp, reproachful slap on his arm from Olivia brought him back to Earth just in time to watch Tana's face crumple.

"Shit, Tana, I'm sorry - "

She cut him off, her voice high-pitched and hysterical. "I'm _trying,_ okay! I'm really fucking sorry I'm not living up to your _standards,_ but I'm _trying!_ He helped me every fucking _day_ since we met, it's - it's not anywhere near enough, I could _never_ do enough - but it's the _least_ I can do for him. Don't you get that? I can't just - I can't give up on him after one fucking _day_ because it's _hard,_ Ronnie."

_ Shit, way to put your foot in it._ Ronnie tried to reach for her hand but she slapped him away, hard enough to sting.

"Don't you _dare_ fucking touch me. You have no right," she hissed, shoving past him and sliding her key card onto the reader, slipping inside and slamming the door behind her. Staring after her, all Ronnie could think of was how much the crash of the door must have just hurt Brandon, startling him from his desperately needed slumber.

_"Ronnie,_ you've got to learn to control your damn tongue," Olivia whispered urgently, touching his arm. "You've _got_ to, honey. I know you're only trying to help him - but so is she. Poor Tana has enough stress in her life without you making her feel even worse. One day you're gonna be all snarky with Brandon, you're gonna say something else you don't mean, and you're gonna _break_ him. We've already been through that once - I don't think he'd be so quick to forgive you a second time."

"No, he wouldn't," Ronnie mumbled, feeling suddenly incredibly weary. "He thought it was a fucking _nightmare,_ for fuck's sake. How fucked up is that, Liv? Just completely deadass convinced I would _never_...he's so fucking..._innocent_ right now, so trusting. No fucking clue why, God knows I don't deserve that...but I know. I _know._ I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one who needs an apology, honey," she said gently, looking him up and down as he slumped hard onto his crutches. "Oh, those kids ran you ragged, didn't they? Let's get you off your feet, Ronnie, come on - Tana doesn't want to check out until we _have_ to, she wants to let Brandon get some proper rest before we get back on the road."

"Yeah, that'd be good - he doesn't do so great in the car, I think," he agreed, following his wife's lead as she ushered him into their own room. "He just needs to sleep."

"But, you know," Olivia added, touching his back gently as she closed the door, guiding him over to their bed - "I _am_ really proud of how you're handling everything. You're doing such a great job supporting Brandon - _really,_ Ronnie, I mean it. I'm so proud of you. It's so obvious that he's relying on you right now, honey. He feels like he _can,_ you know?

"The rest of us try, but Tana's right - he doesn't trust anyone quite like he trusts you. He tells you things he wouldn't ever dream of telling anyone else, even if we spent a hundred years trying to force it out of him. He just _tells_ you things, because he really, truly, unequivocally _trusts_ you. That kind of trust...it's such a gift, baby. It's beautiful. He needs someone in his corner, and that's _you,_ Ronnie. I think you help him a lot, way more than you know."

Ronnie shrugged, feeling the familiar sinking guilt weighing down his stomach as he fell onto the bed and wrapped his arms tightly around Olivia, burying his face in her hair. "God, I hope so - he got hurt trying to help _me,_ Liv, he ended up almost _dead_ because of it, and now his whole fucking life has gone to shit - he _wishes_ he'd died instead. That's...I _did_ that...and I was so horrible to him when he came back, just because _he made me worry_...Bran should've just punched me in the face. I deserved it. I still do."

She snorted softly. "He would _never,_ Ronnie, and you know it - brain injury or not. Brandon would rather chop off his own hand and feed it to sharks himself than do anything to hurt you. But be careful; If you don't start behaving, _Tana_ might be the one to hit you - and I'll_ let_ her. You've been warned."

"Noted, Livvie. I'll keep that mind," Ronnie chuckled, squeezing Olivia close and kissing her tenderly. "I'll work on it. _Promise."_


	52. Chapter 52

Tana slammed the door shut behind her, reveling for a moment in the satisfying explosion of the moment of impact that reverberated through her feet and shook the thin hotel walls. _Oh, that felt good. Like the door was Ronnie's fucking head._ She closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the wall, forcing herself to take deep, even breaths.

Shutting the world out, she focused on the rhythmic patter of her heartbeat in her ears and the soothing sounds of her own breath - in and out, in and out. _It's okay - get ahold of yourself. Calm down. Ronnie's only trying to help._

Very slowly, Tana felt her pulse and her breathing slowly return to normal, a fragile peace replacing the vicious anger and despair that had reared up inside her with a vengeance at Ronnie's thoughtless comment. _He doesn't know anything. He has no idea._

Suddenly, it was like the sounds of the world turned on around her, switching from mute to full, deafening volume in a split second. Her heart sank clear through the floor beneath her feet, beating furiously once more, and an invisible elephant of guilt and anxiety settled onto her chest, suffocating her with its crushing weight.

All three of her boys were panicking, their voices unusually high-pitched and frantic, layered over one another in increasing hysterics - _"It's okay, dad, it's okay!" - "Daddy, what's wrong?" - "Oh my God, what do we do, what do we do?!"_ \- and through it all, someone else was weeping violently, punctuated by shaky, painful gasps for air. Brandon. _Oh no, baby...the door!_

Tana's eyes snapped open and she tripped over her own feet in her haste to reach her family, stumbling and catching herself just in time on the foot of the bed, both hands spread wide on the duvet. Frozen, unnoticed, she stared at Ammon and Henry - they both knelt next to Brandon, their faces ghostly white, speaking over each other and growing ever louder in their panic as they tried desperately to comfort their father. Beside them, Gunnar flipped aimlessly through the hospital's care binder with trembling fingers, a grotesque mask of dawning horror painted across his young face.

_ "Kids, leave him alone!"_

Her voice came out entirely unrecognizable - harsh and sharp, like a knife. Her sons looked up at once in unison, bearing identical expressions of shock and relief. Her heart hammered loudly in the sudden ensuing silence, a stammering staccato beat that counted down the last moments of her own delicate, failing composure.

"Mom - " Ammon began, but Tana cut him off, slashing her hand through the air.

"I know, honey, I see - _leave him alone._ Go. I'll handle it. It's only the door, I slammed it too hard and it was too loud, it hurt him. That's all. It's my fault. Go take a walk, calm down. He'll be fine. Go - _now,"_ she barked, raising her voice when none of the boys moved.

All three of them jumped in surprise, and guilt squirmed in her stomach as Brandon flinched visibly at her volume, cringing away from her and clapping his hand hard over his ear. _Fuck, I just keep hurting him. I'm sorry, honey._

Gunnar shook his head, his chin wobbling as he looked down at Brandon where he lay curled tightly in upon himself, clutching his head and sobbing like the world had ended. "But - but - come on, I wanna help! He needs us, please - _mom - "_

Tana sighed, moving over to him and stroking his hair gently. _"Go,_ baby," she repeated again, softer now. "Thank you for trying to help - _all_ of you - but your dad's gonna be just fine, okay? He just needs peace and quiet now. I love you all, and I'm so proud of you, but you need to leave, just for now."

Gunnar sighed and bit his lip worriedly, unable to tear his watery eyes away from Brandon. Suddenly, Ammon swooped up behind his little brother and hugged him, his arms wrapped firmly around his chest from behind, his head resting on his shoulder.

"Come on, Gunny. You heard mom. He's gonna be okay - she's gonna make sure he is. But all we're doing now is making _more_ noise, right? We need to leave dad alone for a little while. He'll still be here when we come back, okay? I promise. Come on."

With one last tearful look at his dad, Gunnar reluctantly allowed Ammon to lead him away. Henry waited by the door already, staring down at his own feet and sniffling quietly as he held the door ajar for his older brothers.

As the door finally closed behind her children, Tana released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and sank down onto the bed, careful to keep a foot or so of space between herself and Brandon.

Her heart shattered into a thousand splintery pieces as she watched her husband cry, his arm wrapped so tightly around his head that he seemed to be trying to crack his skull open anew with his own hand.

Tana hesitated, then slowly reached out to touch his forearm. The instant her fingertips made contact with his skin, he recoiled from her, whimpering in agony, and she drew her hand away as if she'd been burned. _God, I can't even touch him. I'm hurting him._

Tana sighed and rested her elbows on her knees, counting the carpet fibers absently while Brandon wept. Eventually, as she surpassed five hundred, his tears subsided, and she looked up again warily, watching him sadly. He lay with his face nestled into the crook of his elbow, breathing shakily and sniffling. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the right words, and closed it again without a sound.

Finally, when he had regained his composure, she forced out his name, a tiny whisper: "Brandon?" and felt her stomach flip uncomfortably when his shoulders stiffened in response to her voice. _He hates me, doesn't he? Why else would he start reacting like that?_

"Go'way," he mumbled into his arm, not raising his head an inch. "Please."

"Brandon, I'm sorry - I didn't mean to wake you up, I didn't mean to hurt you. I just - I wasn't thinking...I was angry, I slammed the door, and it hurt you. _I_ hurt you, and I'm sorry."

He turned his head, resting his ear on his arm and blinking blearily at her for a moment. His eyes were strangely distant and empty, as though he were still half-asleep. "You're...you're m-mad. You...are you...are you o-okay? D-Did I...did I do...s-something?"

"Am I...?" She couldn't even finish repeating his question and closed her eyes briefly, huffing impatiently and letting the rest of the question trail away into incredulous silence. _Ronnie's right, it's absolutely infuriating to have him ask that, isn't it?_

"God, Brandon, how _could_ you - "

Tana forced herself to abort the impulsive question at once as Brandon's face fell, utterly devastated, tears welling up in his bloodshot eyes again. He closed his eyes and turned away from her.

"You're...y-you're m-mad...mad at _me._ I did something b-bad...I don't _know_ \- I d-don't remember, but...I'm s-sorry...s-so sorry."

_Shit._ Tana reached toward him, but stopped in mid-air, her hand hovering uncertainly as she remembered his reaction just a few minutes earlier. _He doesn't want to be touched right now. It's too much._ She let her hand drop into her lap with a sigh, digging her fingernails deep into her thigh instead.

_"Brandon,_ no!_ No!_ I'm not mad at _you,_ I promise. I _promise,_ baby. You've done nothing wrong, there's no reason for anyone to be angry with you. Okay? I swear. _I swear."_

He didn't move, didn't acknowledge her at all for several long minutes, and the silence stretched on forever. When he spoke again, it was only in the tiniest, softest whisper, his back still facing her, and Tana had to lean close to hear.

"The boys...my b-boys. They w-were...here. Weren't they? I h-heard...I hurt them, I...I _hurt_ them. I'm s-sorry. I'm_ sorry._ I s-scared them. Are they okay? Can you...c-can you tell them I'm sorry? Please. Tell them. I'm sorry. I can't...I can't. I'm so sorry. It just - it hurts, it a-always _hurts_ and...I'm _tired._ I c-couldn't...it _hurt,_ Tana...I'm s-sorry. I scared my - my _b-babies,_ and I'm j-just so...sorry. I'm _sorry."_

_God, Brandon. Stop it. Just stop it._ Tana closed her eyes and pressed her palms into her eyelids. She breathed deeply, centering herself, counting each breath and attempting to plan her response in her head.

Careful to keep her voice soft, she opened her eyes and tried again. "Brandon...oh, _honey_...I'm okay, and the kids are okay too, I promise. They're just - they're only _worried_ about you, baby." She paused for breath, but Brandon's quiet, broken rebuttal stopped her in her tracks.

"I_ know_...but...b-but they...they shouldn't. They shouldn't _have_ to. I'm - I'm not - I'm no good. U-Useless. They deserve a r-real...a real d-dad. They d-deserve..._b-better_...you, too. They need a _real_ dad, Tana. Not...n-not...this. Not me. I'm t-trying, I p-promise I _am,_ but I - I c-can't...I just _can't._ So tired...I'm so...so s-s-sorry. I'm _sorry."_

Brandon's voice cracked on the final apology and he curled tightly upon himself once more, a tiny, trembling ball of misery. _He really...he really thinks all that?_ Tana felt her own heart shrivel into nothingness along with him, sinking, overwhelmed by black, sickening grief and horror.

"Oh my _God,_ no, _Brandon,_ that's ridicu- "

"P-Please, _please_...j-just...just leave me alone. I just want...I w-want to b-be _alone,"_ he whispered, and then he was still, as silent and motionless as a broken toy.

Tana bit her lip and wavered anxiously, wishing with all her heart that she could just hug him and force the sadness away, force him to see himself properly. _But I'd only make it worse...he was right this morning, wasn't he? I don't ever do what he asks now. He's too kind to say it outright, but that's what he meant - I don't listen. My poor love...I just steamroll right over him. And he asks for so little from me - from anyone. So little._

With a heavy, tremulous sigh, she stood on numb legs made of paper and stumbled to the armchair in the corner, picking up her novel from the table where it had laid all morning, lonely and forgotten.

Tana took one last, long look at Brandon, hoping he would fall back asleep soon. _He'll feel better if he just gets some proper rest, won't he? He's just tired and overwhelmed. He needs energy to fight...himself. He needs time, and space, and rest. I can give him those things, at least._

She tore her gaze away from him, opened the book, and began to read, trying to lose herself in the better, kinder world preserved within its pages.


	53. Chapter 53

In the back of the rental van as it rumbled down the Kansas highway, Ronnie smiled. Brandon sat beside him, pressed close against his side, his head resting on his shoulder. In front of them, the boys' muffled voices and giggles trickled back - they were playing a game of I Spy, but they were trying so hard to keep their voices down that Ronnie couldn't tell much more than that.

"Is it the...um...w-water...um...oh, th-that thing?" Brandon murmured into his ear as Henry continually rejected his brothers' guesses as to what 'something white' could be, giggling hysterically at each wrong answer. He waved vaguely out of their window, and Ronnie grinned, leaning his head gently against Brandon's in acknowledgment.

"Hey, Henry - Brandon thinks it's the water tower there," he called softly to the row of seats in front of them, tapping on the back of Gunnar's seat.

"Water _tower_...thanks," Brandon whispered gratefully, settling his head more firmly into Ronnie's shoulder with a quiet sigh. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Henry's renewed giggles floated back to them. He craned his head over the top of his seat, trying to look back at his dad, beaming in excitement.

"Daddy, you _got_ it!"

Brandon offered a tentative, half-hearted smile to his youngest son, and the boys returned to their game, giggling quietly. Ronnie couldn't even make out more than the barest fraction of their words, but several minutes later, Brandon pointed through the window at a passing billboard far in the distance and whispered in his ear again: "The...the s-sign, there - it's red."

"Brandon wants to know if it's the billboard to the right all the way over there, guys - the air conditioning company."

"Oh my _God,_ dad! _Yeah!"_

All three boys' heads popped up over the tops of their seats, staring in frank amazement. _"Yeah,_ dad..." Ammon said slowly, gaping at them both. "How did you...? That's amazing! Nobody could get it. I was gonna just give up and tell them!"

Ronnie chuckled, nudging him as the kids turned away again. "You must have superhuman hearing now, Bran - I couldn't even hear what they were supposed to be looking for. Maybe super vision too, if none of them could find it." Brandon smiled up at him, shrugging silently.

Ronnie's phone vibrated in the pouch on the back of Gunnar's seat, the screen lighting up. Ronnie blinked at it for a moment, confused, and reached for it, checking the screen and silencing the alarm.

"Oh, B - that's our cue. It's time for your meds." Brandon groaned, but sat up obediently, and Ronnie stretched his long arm across Brandon's torso to unfasten his seatbelt, making it easier for his friend to face him.

Ronnie settled the phone onto his lap, fished the bag of pills from the pocket as well, and grabbed the unopened water bottle from his cupholder, twisting the cap open in one smooth motion.

Turning his phone on, he quickly consulted the medication schedule he had copied into his memos and deftly sorted through the bag, examining labels and pulling various bottles, emptying their contents into his hand.

"Okay, B. Ready?" He held up the first pill and Brandon opened his own hand in response. Ronnie placed the pill in his palm and watched as Brandon took it, giving him the water - one, then two pills gone in a couple of minutes, but he held up his hand to stave off the next one and slumped in his seat, breathing hard, staring sadly down at his own trembling hand.

"Okay, let's take a break. Take your time. Just let me know when you're ready for more, okay?" Brandon only smiled softly, leaning heavily against his shoulder. A few minutes later, he sat up again, his eyes fixed on the pills in Ronnie's hand, and held out his own again. Three, four pills down. Finally, he sighed and shook his head as Ronnie offered the last one, biting his lip nervously.

"Can I help you, Bran?" Ronnie whispered, touching his shaking hand as it rested in his lap. Brandon stared at him for a moment, any emotion in his eyes hidden by his sunglasses. The tiniest smile suddenly lifted the corners of his lips, and he nodded.

_ He still trusts me to help him - even after I forced his fucking medicine down his throat yesterday. He still trusts me._ A great, overwhelming flood of pride and accomplishment swept over Ronnie, and he grinned back at Brandon and squeezed his hand gently.

"Okay, all you've got to do is open your mouth for me, alright? I'll give you the pill and the water. Deal?" He nodded again, and Ronnie held up the pill. Brandon opened his mouth, and Ronnie slipped it inside and held the water bottle to his lips, squeezing it carefully to release water. The last pill finally gone, Ronnie beamed at his friend, cupping his face in his hand, and basked in the blinding glow of pride that filled his heart as Brandon smiled back.

"I love you so damn much, you know. I just...thank you for trusting me, Bran. Thank _you."_ Ronnie paused and swallowed thickly, closing his eyes against the tears that had sprung to life, and smiled.

"You probably don't know it, but _you_ help _me_ every second of every day - you make my life so much better, and I don't think I could do this without you - so just..._thank you._ A billion times - _thank you,_ little brother."

He opened his eyes to find that Brandon's smile had grown, so close now to his beautiful signature smile that had become as rare as a unicorn in the last month - a hint of sadness still lurked behind it, a permanent darkness deeply engrained in his face.

He leaned his head into Ronnie's hand, sighing softly, bit his lip and hesitated for a brief moment, then whispered, "I d-don't know what...w-what I'd do without you, Ronnie. I don't..._I don't know._ I _l-love_ you."

A pang of grief coursed through Ronnie's heart at this confession, and he felt a hot tear finally trickle down his face, then another. He made no move to wipe them away, and just stared at Brandon's face, drinking in every detail. "I love you so fucking much, Bran. Can I have a hug? Please?"

Brandon giggled and leaned in, embracing him tightly, and Ronnie's heart lifted at the ridiculous, magical sound - hands down, his absolute favorite sound in the world. "I love your laugh so fucking much, you know - it's so _wonderful,_ Bran, it just makes me happy," he murmured into Brandon's shoulder, turning his head to kiss his cheek gently. Another beautiful giggle filled his ears as he did so, and he smiled against Brandon's skin. He kissed him again and pulled away, touching his face softly where his kisses had fallen.

"You know, you're doing such a good job with everything. Really. _Everything._ I'm_ so_ fucking proud of you," he whispered, stroking his cheek with his thumb. "So fucking proud, Bran - I couldn't even tell you how much if I spent a whole day trying. I'm just so, so fucking proud of you, and I just really, _really_ love you."

Brandon ducked his head shyly, but his smile returned, broader still than before. "Th-Thanks, Ron...thanks. I l-love you, too." Ronnie stroked his face one last time and let his hand drop away - the emptiness, only air against his fingertips now, suddenly felt like physical pain and he closed his fingers into a loose fist in his lap.

"When we get to the next hotel, after we've all eaten and rested for a while, do you wanna go for a little walk with me - just in the halls? Only if you _want_ to, if you're feeling up to it. I'm out of shape, I need to get a little exercise. I'm gonna be slow as hell - a tortoise could probably beat me. But if you don't mind, B...it would be nice to have some company. Do you wanna go on a walk with me?"

Brandon tilted his head, and Ronnie had the unsettling feeling that he was being examined. "Maybe," he whispered, and Ronnie smiled. _Good enough for me - I'll take it._

The sagging of Brandon's shoulders suddenly caught his attention, and he reached out to touch his face again. "Bran, are you tired? You've been up for a while now, you should rest if you're tired." He nodded, sighing, and Ronnie retrieved a small plastic case from his pocket. "The kids got you earplugs, if you want to try them. Maybe they'll help you sleep better."

Brandon shrugged, but held out his hand as Ronnie opened the case. Ronnie dropped one into his hand, and Brandon tried to bring it to his ear, then carefully squished it in place - _only two tries, not bad!_

"Okay, I know you're Superman, B, but I'm gonna help you with the other one - it's on the side of your bad arm, okay?" Brandon just nodded, and Ronnie gently nestled the earplug into his other ear, then raised his voice slightly, from the whisper that had become habitual to a more normal volume. "Can you hear me?"

Again, Brandon nodded, and Ronnie smiled. He rolled his sweatshirt into a makeshift pillow and pressed it into his lap, nodding at Brandon. "Come on, then - go to sleep, little brother. You need to rest. I've got you, I promise. You're safe with me."

Once again, Brandon laid down across the long seat, sighing softly. "L'v you," he mumbled, settling his head carefully in Ronnie's lap.

"I love _you,_ Bran, and I'm so damn proud of you. I'm never, ever gonna let you forget that," Ronnie whispered. He touched Brandon's hand lightly, and smiled as his friend's spindly fingers immediately seized his own, curling tightly around his hand. _He's so predictable._

With his other hand, he caressed Brandon's hair protectively, flattening the loose, wavy curls and watching them spring up again with idle fascination. _Even his hair is resilient as fuck._ He chuckled to himself at the thought.

Like a magnet, Ronnie's eyes were drawn then to the ghastly scar that split his skull, a sickening white slash peeking through his dark hair, and his smile slowly faded away.

"I love you, Ron," Brandon whispered again, his voice barely audible now, his words slurring together softly. "Thanks f-for...oh, y'kn-know. You...a'ways...you al-always help me. Always. You're - you're always..._here._ Don't - you d-d-don't...don't have to - you shouldn't...b-but..._th-thanks._ Really. Thank you."

_ Fucking hell, Bran._ Ronnie blinked back tears again, begrudgingly removing his hand from Brandon's head to wipe them away, then returned to stroking his hair again. He gently touched his scar, following its sinister path through his best friend's broken skull with callused fingertips.

"Ah, you never need to thank me, B - that's what friends are for, isn't it? And _you_ \- you're the best damn friend I've ever had. I'm not going _anywhere,_ I promise. Ever. But I appreciate it. Thank _you._ I love you, Bran. More than _anything._ I _love_ you, okay?"

Brandon squeezed his hand weakly, his grip fading fast. "Th-Thanks...for - for c-caring. You always...you _h-help._ Thank you. I...I love you."

Ronnie snorted softly and sighed, brushing his friend's cheekbone repeatedly with the lightest touch of his fingertips. Carefully, he avoided the faded nicks on his pale skin, fleeting trophies from his last battle with a razor. _Wonder if he knows he just said all that already? Maybe he just really, really means it._

"I know, Bran. I love you too. Just go to sleep, little brother. You're tired. Go to _sleep._ I've got you, and I love you. I love you, I love you, I _love_ you."


	54. Chapter 54

Ronnie watched the countryside bleed past and gradually transition into a city, then back again with mild fascination. After a few hours on the road, Tana pulled over to the side of the highway and twisted around to survey her family in the first rays of sunset.

Her children had long since given up on their games - Henry slept with his head tilted backwards in his seat, and Gunnar and Ammon giggled quietly and whispered to each other while they played handheld video games.

"Is anyone hungry?" she called back quietly. The kids all nodded enthusiastically, and Ronnie shrugged and looked at Brandon - awake once more, he slumped against Ronnie's side, resting his head on his shoulder and fiddling disinterestedly with Gunnar's Rubik's cube.

"Bran, are you hungry?" he asked, nudging his side gently. Brandon shook his head, not bothering to look up as he twisted the sides of the cube. Ronnie tilted his head pensively, watching him for a moment. _I wonder if he's really not hungry, or if he just doesn't want to go through all that effort._

"You should eat something anyway; do you wanna share some french fries with me, at least?"

Brandon paused, looking past the toy now and staring vacantly at the back of the seat in front of him. Finally, he sighed and shrugged, giving a tiny, half-hearted nod. _Yeah, I think that's it, actually - just too much effort. _Ronnie reached out and squeezed his knee gently, offering a tiny gesture of support.

"I'm just gonna split some fries with Brandon, Tana," he called ahead. She nodded and pulled back onto the road in search of a drive-thru restaurant, and Ronnie turned his attention back to Brandon.

"You know, Bran, none of us cares how long it takes you to eat," he assured him, touching his friend's arm. "Not even a little bit. I _promise._ You have all the time in the world. We don't mind at all."

Brandon didn't react, and Ronnie sighed and leaned into his friend a little more heavily. After a minute, he felt the rise and fall of Brandon's chest as he took a deep breath, and then the tiniest whisper reached his ears, soft and tentative.

_"You_ don't mind."

Ronnie blinked in astonishment, momentarily stunned into speechlessness. "Bran, _what...?_ What do you mean? Who...who do you think _does_ mind?"

But Brandon only shook his head and curled in upon himself, his head against Ronnie's chest, and Ronnie sighed and wrapped his arms tightly around his friend.

"I promise, B, not one of us minds at all. Don't listen to whatever your brain is trying to tell you, okay? Don't listen to it - just listen to _me._ We love you, and we're so damn proud of everything you've done. I _promise,"_ he whispered, kissing the top of his head gently. A shiver coursed through Brandon's body and he pressed his head more firmly into Ronnie's chest, as though he were trying to shrink away and disappear, but he didn't say another word.

Finally, the van pulled into a drive-thru and Tana distributed paper-wrapped sandwiches and burgers, filling the vehicle with the mouth-watering scent of fast food. Ronnie reluctantly relinquished his hold on Brandon and watched as his friend sighed and sat up, allowing him to reach out and retrieve the bag of french fries from Ammon.

He smiled softly and held the bag open for Brandon, murmuring, "You get first dibs, little brother." Brandon shied away from the bag, shaking his head, and Ronnie felt the smile slid off his face. "Bran, come _on._ Please. Don't you trust me?"

Brandon shrank away even further, nearly on the other end of the van's seat now in his quest to put distance between himself and the food, hugging himself fiercely. He took a deep breath and shook his head vehemently, whispering, "It's not...it's n-not...I _do._ I _do."_

"Then what's wrong, Bran? I don't care if you need an hour to eat a couple of fries, I swear to God - I don't. I don't care if you drop them, you can chuck them straight at my head if you want - and I'm happy to help if you want help, Bran. I'd love to help you. I don't - I _promise_ I don't care if you need extra time, little brother."

Brandon shook his head again, now pressed up against the side of the van, as far as he could possibly get from the bag of fries. Ronnie's heart cracked watching him, wishing he could see his friend's eyes behind his dark sunglasses - body language could tell him a lot, but Brandon's eyes had always told him the whole story, even when he didn't want to speak. _He actually looks scared. Why?_

"Please, Bran - you can tell me. Don't you trust me?"

Brandon nodded, biting his lip, but turned away from the french fries - away from Ronnie. He seemed to be looking over the top of the middle seats at the driver's seat now; he was watching Tana as she drove.

Ronnie wavered uncertainly, then tucked the bag into the pocket on the back of Ammon's seat with a soft rustle of paper and sighed, waiting patiently. _I should let him work it out, whatever it is. He's trying._

Many minutes passed, and everyone else had finished their meals in the dying amber light of the sun by the time Brandon's soft voice graced his ears again, tiny and hesitant.

"I trust _you,_ Ron...of course I do. I _d-do._ But - b-but not _me._ Not me. I - I had a...a d-dream." His sentence seemed to have been cut off prematurely, choked by his voice as it cracked and gave out, and he swallowed hard. Ronnie held his breath as he waited for his friend to continue.

"A...a dream...I can't - Ron, I - I sh-shouldn't be here. I shouldn't...I c-can't. _I shouldn't be here._ You can't...p-please, you can't tell. Please." He fell silent once again, and though Ronnie waited, he didn't say anything more. _A dream about what? What's he afraid of? Why doesn't he trust himself?_

Ronnie sighed, pondering his endless questions and wondering whether he should push the matter or let it go. _I don't think he would appreciate being hounded...it's clearly really upsetting and he's told me everything he feels comfortable with, I guess._

"Thank you for sharing, Bran," Ronnie murmured, reaching out to brush Brandon's arm. Brandon jumped slightly in surprise at the contact, but looked over and visibly relaxed as Ronnie jerked his hand away from his skin - he'd only been startled, not in pain this time, it seemed.

"Really - thank you for sharing, B. I appreciate it so much - so, _so_ much. I know it's so hard. _Thank you. _I promise I won't tell anyone, okay? I could never tell your secrets. They're _yours_ to tell, whenever you want to and to whoever you want to talk to. You're _safe_ with me, I promise."

Brandon slumped against the side of the van in relief, sighing softly. "Thanks," he mumbled, finally turning to look at Ronnie. "Thanks, R-Ron."

Ronnie smiled at him, then gestured to the bag of fries tucked into the seat pocket in front of him, and added, "But I won't eat my dinner until you have yours, so can you please just take a french fry? _Please?_ You've barely eaten all day, Brandon - you need to keep up your strength, you know. I'm worried."

Ronnie bit his tongue as the last two words left his lips and Brandon tensed in response, his shoulders suddenly sharp and rock hard. He shrank again, wilting away from Ronnie and tucking his head into his chest - an unmistakable wobble of his chin gave away his state of mind. _Wrong move, dumbass. He doesn't want to worry anyone - you know that. He's only said it a hundred times._

"I'm sorry," Brandon whispered, and Ronnie suppressed the urge to strangle himself for giving rise to the clear self-loathing in his friend's soft voice. _I wish he would stop apologizing._

"Oh, Bran, _please_...you have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all. I _swear._ Come here, little brother - please? Fuck the french fries, okay? You need a hug. _I_ need a hug, please. Please. Come _here."_

Brandon stared at him for a moment, and then like a tortoise coming out of its shell, he slowly eased himself back to Ronnie's side and melted suddenly into his arms, shaking with quiet sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbled into Ronnie's shirt, gripping a fistful of the patterned fabric. "I'm _sorry."_

Ronnie sighed, squeezing his friend tightly to his chest, and bent his head to whisper into his ear: "Please don't apologize to me, Bran. You never need to be sorry. _Never._ You're not doing anything wrong."

"I'm m-making you..._worry._ You shouldn't - you s-shouldn't - "

Ronnie cut him off gently, hugging him even more fiercely. "Stop it, Bran. You know, I've worried about you every fucking day since I _met_ you, and there's nothing you can do to make me stop. That's what you do for family, isn't it? I can't stop now just because you have a horrible little gremlin in your head telling you you don't deserve it. You _do_ deserve it, Bran. You deserve to have people _care._ Just like you care about everyone else. Okay? I promise. I love you, and you deserve the world."

Eventually, Brandon's tears subsided, and he rested against Ronnie's chest, exhausted. Ronnie waited a few more minutes, hoping to give him time to solidify his composure, and then he hugged him tightly one last time and pulled away, gently tilting his friend's chin upwards.

"I _love_ you, and you make my life worth living, so shut up and eat some fries - please, for _me?"_

Brandon sighed and reached for the paper bag with shaking fingers, fumbling around and retrieving one. "Happy?"

"Oh, absolutely," Ronnie teased, poking him playfully as he grabbed a handful of his own lukewarm fries. The drummer grinned as he dropped one in his mouth and watched Brandon do the same with less grace.

_"Very_ happy, little brother. Thank you."


	55. Chapter 55

Ronnie stretched his arms lazily, surveying their luggage in a neat pile - another day, another hotel room. If there'd been only healthy people in the van, they would've been home already, but they had decided to break the drive up into more manageable chunks for Brandon's sake.

The sun had set fully outside their window by now, revealing the bright, twinkling lights of the city in dazed and watery moonlight. He turned off his podcast and slipped his headphones from his ears as his phone vibrated on the mattress, lighting up to reveal a short text from Tana: '_Brandon's awake.'_

Ronnie rolled over in bed for a moment, watching Olivia as she slept beside him, studying her face, the tiny wrinkles around her eyes drawing his attention like beacons. _Everyone_ seemed to have aged more than they should have in the last month. _Life is so much more stressful now, isn't it?_ Ronnie touched her cheek softly, then covered his mouth and stifled a laugh as her nose wrinkled in protest.

Reluctantly, he rolled away from her once more and sat up. Retrieving his crutches from their place against the wall, he rose to his feet on stiff, complaining knees. He swiped the hotel key card from the bedside table and pocketed it, then slowly made his way to the door. Ronnie rested his casted foot lightly on the carpet for balance as he abandoned his right crutch and opened the door carefully.

Sticking the rubber bottom of his crutch into the open crack of the door, he forced it open all the way and stepped through, then gently pushed it closed again, smiling at the satisfying click of the door._ Finally, I'm getting the hang of these damn things._ He crossed the hall to a door that stood ajar a few rooms down from his own and peeked inside.

"Hey, guys," Ronnie said softly, watching the kids as they bustled around the room and into the bathroom in dim light from a single lamp, unpacking various items for their parents. Brandon sat on the bed watching them with an odd, unreadable expression on his face, hugging his knees - Tana, sitting beside him with her hand on his back, looked away from her husband and smiled wearily.

"Hi, Ronnie," she said, and Ronnie's heart lurched at her obvious anxiety, her overwhelming nervousness. _Fuck, she's scared - the last time she left him alone with me, I almost killed him._ Her face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and her right leg bounced incessantly against the mattress, causing tiny repetitive squeaks of the springs.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then turned back to Brandon. "Honey, Ronnie wanted to know if you wanted to go for a little walk with him - just in the hallway, it won't be far. Right, Ron? You have your phone on you, in case...?"

Ronnie nodded, patting his cell phone in his pocket and saluting her jokingly. He beamed at Brandon, gesturing vaguely to his own leg. "If you want to, Bran - only if you _want_ to. I need some exercise, and I gotta start somewhere, right? You're gonna have to go slow for me, though."

Brandon's eyebrows rose as he listened, and his lips quirked slightly in amusement. _"I_ have to...to go s-slow for _you?"_ Ronnie snorted, shrugging at him and grinning again. _Damn, he saw right through that._

"That's right, B - no speeding tickets, okay?"

Brandon looked back at Tana again, looking her up and down, clearly taking stock of her nerves now, as well. A very peculiar expression took over his face as he looked at his wife. His hand twitched in his lap as though he wanted to touch her and he opened his mouth to speak, then finally he sighed and stood. Behind him, Ronnie saw Tana deflate as he walked away, rubbing her face with a trembling hand.

Carefully, Brandon made his way toward the door, watching his feet. Ronnie smiled slightly watching him, noticing how much steadier he was on his feet now than when they had arrived, before he had taken a proper nap. Brandon stepped through the door and stopped, waiting as Ronnie waved to Tana and shut the door quietly with his crutch.

"Alright, B, see that couch down the hall there? I thought we could just walk to it and sit down and rest for a bit." Ronnie pointed to the navy leather sofa and the end of the hall, and Brandon nodded. "But remember, take your time. You've gotta go slow for me, okay?"

Brandon giggled, prodding his side lightly. "Yeah, Ron...I - I g-get it. _Slow._ For _you."_

Ronnie grinned at him and waved his friend onward, waiting until he'd taken a few steps before following along behind him. He was careful to stay a couple of feet behind him, not wanting to make him feel rushed or watched, and he was rewarded with some of his best steps since he'd left the hospital. As they reached the sofa, Brandon slowed to a stop and stood still, waiting.

"You wanted...s-something...when w-we - when we got here," he said softly, staring down at his feet uncertainly, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I'm s-sorry. I'm...I'm sorry. You w-wanted...oh...what d-did you...what did you say?"

Ronnie winced and cursed himself - _too many instructions, too much time between the first step and the second, I guess._ He touched Brandon's back carefully, trying not to startle him. "That's alright, Bran - we're just gonna sit down and take a break now, that's all."

Brandon fell onto the sofa with a soft sigh, leaning into the armrest gratefully and breathing heavily. Ronnie sat beside him, laying his crutches on the carpet by his feet, and wrapped his arm around Brandon's back. "I didn't wanna distract you, but you're doing a really good job, B. You look a lot more..._comfortable_ walking right now than usual. It looks easier."

Brandon shrugged slightly, his shoulders rising and falling beneath Ronnie's arm, and he leaned in and rested his cheek against Ronnie's chest. "It's just...um...it's h-harder. With - with the k-kids, you know? So - they're so...so f-fast. Every...everyone - they're all so fast."

Ronnie bit the inside of his cheek in thought, gazing down at the top of Brandon's head and the beginning of the sickly scar on his scalp. "You know...you know you don't have to keep up with the kids or Tana or anyone, don't you? No one expects that from you. They don't mind. You're _hurt,_ B. They understand."

Brandon ducked his head slightly. "Maybe," he whispered, then paused, taking several deep breaths. "But...b-but - I don't want t-to...upset them. I don't want to...I don't _want_ to...they'll be...uh...em-embarr..." He seemed to give up entirely on pronouncing the word and ended his sentence with a little exasperated sigh instead, hugging Ronnie. "I...I'm n-not the - not the _same,_ Ron. They know."

Ronnie shook his head, wishing he knew what to say...what he wanted to hear. "Bran...little brother, they would never be embarrassed by you - I promise. They understand. They're so proud of you - we all are. We all love you."

There was absolutely no response to that for nearly a minute - not even a twitch. Ronnie was just beginning to wonder if perhaps Brandon had simply fallen asleep when he whispered into his chest, the tiniest sound: "No."

"What do you mean?"

His friend only sighed and hugged Ronnie even tighter, stealing his breath away for a moment. "Hey, B, please - what do you mean?"

Another long stretch of silence, a deep breath, and then he spoke: "The way T-Tana looks at me...when she thinks I'm not...n-not looking. Not - she's so - s-she's so...I'm not..." Brandon huffed again, clearly frustrated with himself. "N-Never mind. I don't know...d-don't know...the - the word. It's not...it's not important."

Ronnie could feel his heart constrict inside his chest...he had an idea what he was trying to say, and the thought curdled the blood in his veins, filling them with sludge and weighing him down. He managed to force out a response past the lump in his throat, his voice soft and gentle.

"Ahhh, it's okay, Bran - it's okay, you can take your time. Everything you say is important. We have all the time in the world. I don't mind waiting at all - it only means I get to spend more time with you...with my best friend. There's no rush. You don't have to talk at all if you don't want to. I won't make you - I would _never,_ you know that. It's okay. I _love_ you."

Several minutes passed with Ronnie wrapping his arms securely around Brandon, providing silent comfort. Looking down, Ronnie noticed that he had closed his eyes - a sudden, sour pang of guilt hit him as he realized he had forgotten to bring Brandon's sunglasses along. Surely the harsh, unforgiving hotel lights had begun to bother him. Finally, he whispered to Ronnie again, shaking his head in tiny, barely perceptible motions.

"The b-boys...my _babies,_ Ronnie...I can't - I c-can't...I just _can't._ It's...I'm only - I'm o-only hurting them. And T-Tana...I _see_ it - sh-she d-doesn't...she d-d-doesn't..."

He stopped again, choked by a sob, and Ronnie hugged him closer. "It's okay, Bran - you don't have to tell me if you're not ready. It's _okay._ I'll still be here whenever you want. Just...please try not to listen to the nasty little voice in your brain, alright? _Please._ Whatever bullshit it's trying to tell you, I _promise_ it's not true, B. _It is not the truth._ You're not hurting anyone. You are _not_ a burden, little brother - not to me, or your kids, or Tana, or _anyone._ We all love you - so, so much. You're the light of all of our lives, okay?"

"Okay," Brandon murmured, his voice barely more than a breath of air. The drummer sighed and stroked his hair gently, wishing he could really _help,_ that he could just take all of his friend's pain away. _It's hard to feel very useful when he still cries every damn day...I don't even know if I really do help. He's just so lost._

"Do you want to stay here for a little while longer, or do you want to head back to your room now, B?"

Brandon shook his head against his chest, and Ronnie shivered - the unmistakably familiar warmth of tears soaked his shirt, chilling his bones. "Don't w-wanna go b-back - back _there,"_ he mumbled into his shirt, hardly audible. "Don't - don't m-make me. Don't leave m-me alone. Please. I can't...it _hurts,_ Ron."

Ronnie bit his lip, looking down at his best friend curled in his lap._ Jesus. He's so sad._ He hugged him even tighter, cradling him against his chest and swallowing hard, banishing the bile that had risen in his throat. "Okay, Bran...okay. We can stay here for a bit. _Okay."_


	56. Chapter 56

In the late morning sun that streamed brightly through the cracks in the hotel blinds, they waited. Ronnie and Olivia sat in identical armchairs by the window, peering idly through the gaps at the bustling city below.

Tana sat on the bed, her book laid open across her lap. Occasionally, out of the corner of his eye, Ronnie saw her sneak glances at her children as they sat cross-legged on the carpet nearby, stifling their giggles while they played a board game, their suitcases piled neatly onto a cart beside them.

"Hey, uh - Ron?"

Ronnie was up in a flash, hobbling quickly to the open bathroom door and peering inside, his heart pounding. Behind him, every other occupant of the room followed his journey with their eyes, watching in suddenly charged, anxious silence.

"Yeah, Bran?"

Brandon stood at the sink, his face half shaved, blinking balefully at the razor in his hand. "Um...I...um...sorry, but...c-can you help me, please? I'm _sorry,_ I j-just...I'm not so g-good at the...the other side."

Ronnie breathed a sigh of relief, sagging onto his crutches. "Of course, B! I don't mind at all, I'd love to help!"

Ronnie started to take a step into the bathroom, and hesitated, thinking better of it as he examined the dark little room, lit only by residual light from the lamp by the hotel room door. The bathroom was too small for two people with limited mobility to be banging around.

"Hang, on, one sec - don't move," he said softly, easing in behind Brandon and carefully closing the lid on the toilet and stepping out again.

"Bran, can you put the razor down and sit on the toilet for me? We're gonna use it like a chair - the tub too."

Brandon obediently dropped the razor onto the bathroom counter, turned around, and then froze. He stood staring at his feet, sighed quietly, and looked up at Ronnie with sad eyes.

Silently, Ronnie berated himself. _Come on, dumbass - you should know better by now, you literally just did this to him yesterday. He won't remember that many instructions._

"You - you w-wanted me to do s-something else. I know...I _know_ you did...I j-just...I'm sorry."

"That's okay, Bran. It's okay; it's my fault. You're doing so good. We're both gonna have to sit down for this. Can you sit on the toilet for me?"

Brandon carefully moved to it and sat down, then rested his head in his hand with a soft sigh. He watched silently as Ronnie rinsed the razor in the sink and turned to look between the counter and the bathtub, biting his lip. _Gonna have to be careful._

"Hey, Tana?" he called softly, poking his head out of the door. Ammon, Henry and Gunnar looked up from their board game, sitting in a little group by the window.

"She went to get something from the car," Gunnar piped up. "But dad needs help? I wanna help! We can help!"

"Sure - could one of you get me a bowl - in my room there were some in that cabinet, just there by the coffee maker - and fill it with warm water for me?"

_ "I got it!"_

Gunnar jumped up, positively brimming with excitement, accidentally kicking the game board and sending pieces flying every which way to the chagrin of his brothers.

"Thanks, Gun," Ronnie laughed, smiling at all three boys and retreating into the bathroom. He picked up the can of shaving cream from the counter and held it out to Brandon. "Can you please hold this for me, Bran?"

His friend took the can and cradled it in both hands, and Ronnie grabbed the razor and a clean washcloth. Holding them carefully against the grip of his crutch, he stood for a moment staring at the bathtub, gradually blowing air out through pursed lips, his cheeks puffed. _Come on, then._ Slowly, he made his way to the bathtub, turned around and propped his left crutch against the wall.

Standing largely on one leg with his cast resting lightly on the bathroom tile for balance, Ronnie took the razor and cloth in his other hand, then disposed of the second crutch as well. Wobbling dangerously, he eased himself down onto the edge of the bathtub with a sigh of relief.

"Sorry, I'm not very good at moving around," he apologized, smiling ruefully. Brandon offered him one of his own, bright and genuine - the same impossibly beautiful, sunny smile that Ronnie had watched bloom over the last eighteen years had finally returned in full.

_ Ohhh, look at that! I made him really, really smile!_ Ronnie's heart flipped a little inside his chest as he grinned back at his friend, a swell of accomplishment rising in his chest. It felt like so long since he had seen the smile he loved so much, and for a moment, it made everything seem right with the world.

Gunnar's voice reached them now, very near the bathroom. "Dad, Uncle Ronnie - I got it," he said quietly as he approached them, visible now from Ronnie's angle. He stared into the bowl of warm water, walking very slowly so he didn't spill its contents.

Ronnie watched Brandon surreptitiously; he sat ramrod straight at Gunnar's first word, tension suddenly radiating from him. His smile had vanished and his eyes were suddenly wide and fearful, reflecting the light from beyond the open door.

"Perfect - thank you, Gunnar," Ronnie whispered, beaming at the boy as he accepted the bowl from him and carefully perched it on the side of the bathtub in front of him. Silent, Brandon watched his son and fidgeted nervously with the hem of his shirt, biting his lip. "You're the best."

"Thanks, Gunny," Brandon added suddenly, his tone rising at the end in an anxious, questioning lilt. He took a deep breath and stretched his arm toward his middle son tentatively. Gunnar dissolved into his chest at once, and Brandon hugged him fiercely. "I love you," he whispered, kissing Gunnar's cheek softly.

"I know, daddy. I love you too," he whispered, grinning back up at him. "But you've really gotta let Uncle Ronnie help shave your face, you're all prickly," he teased, reaching out to touch the dark stubble on his father's face and sticking his tongue out in displeasure, giggling. Brandon blinked silently at him for a moment, then snorted in laughter, hugging him again.

"Hey, hey, kid - if you're just gonna insult him, you can leave," Ronnie joked, poking Gunnar's arm playfully. "But turn the light on before you go, please - sorry, Bran, I don't have super night vision like you. I'm only _mortal,_ and I need proper light so I don't accidentally chop off your nose or something. You can just close your eyes if you want, and I'll be quick, I promise.

Gunnar giggled at him and hugged Brandon again, squeezing gently. "Okay, bye, see you in a minute, dad - I love you! And you too, Uncle Ronnie. But Ammon is beating all of us at our game, I gotta go back," he said with mock sadness, grinning back at both of them one last time. Gunnar flicked the light switch and flooded the little room with bright light, then fled the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.

Ronnie sat still for a second, quietly watching Brandon. He blinked deliberately in the light, his head bowed slightly; the tension bled out of his shoulders with each passing second now that they were alone again. He sighed, then looked up and stared at the door his son had disappeared through with a sad, vaguely guilty expression, biting his lip.

Ronnie touched his shoulder gently, startling him away from his thoughts. "They're alright, you know, B - they just wanna know that you're okay, and they wanna help you."

Brandon dropped his gaze to the floor, sighing heavily. He was silent for a minute, and then he looked up at Ronnie, his eyes raw and honest. _So sad._

"Look at him, Ron._ Look._ He's j-just...just a _kid._ He shouldn't...sh-shouldn't have to d-do any of this - he shouldn't have to help me. He shouldn't have to...to _w-worry_ about me."

Brandon closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them and spoke to his knees, blinking hard in the harsh light. "I just...I'm not...I'm not d-doing my_ jobs,_ Ronnie. _Any_ of them. T-Tana, the kids, the b-band...anything...I _can't._ Poor Tana...I'm killing her. I do one...one s-stupid little thing and I'm j-just...done. So f-fucking useless. All I _do_ is sleep...and I'm still so...s-so _tired._ Every second. It _hurts,_ Ron."

He started to say something else, but hesitated, biting his lip, and closed his eyes. Finally, so softly that Ronnie had to lean forward to hear, he whispered, "What's the...what's the fucking p-point?"

_ God, B._ Ronnie swallowed the lump in his throat, reaching out to touch Brandon's face, following his cheekbone with slow, featherlight fingers and watching him in silence while he gathered his thoughts.

"The is the hardest thing you've ever gone through in your whole life, isn't it, Bran? Hell, I'm pretty sure it's the hardest thing anyone _can_ go through, period."

Brandon only swallowed and sighed, his shoulders drooping, his eyes still closed as Ronnie's fingers travelled across his face. "You're tired of trying so hard, aren't you?" he asked quietly, letting his hand drop to his lap.

"Everything is difficult now, right? Even things you don't think_ should_ be so difficult, that you feel like you _should_ be able to do - or maybe other people think so. They don't get it. Right?"

Brandon nodded, his chin trembling, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and Ronnie took a deep breath, wiping the tears away.

"Bran, your only job right now is just to focus on yourself. You have more than enough work with your recovery - that's the only thing you should be thinking about, okay? Me and Liv, we'll help Tana with the kids, they'll be fine. I promise we'll take care of your babies, little brother. I _promise."_

He shifted on the edge of the bathtub and cleared his throat, forcing himself to carry on past the growing lump that threatened to cut off his voice. "We all understand that you've had a really horrible, really fucking serious injury, Bran - you almost fucking _d-died - "_

Ronnie's voice finally broke and he squeezed his eyes shut, hugging himself, trying to dispel the sudden wave of nausea that had swelled up in his belly at the thought. A soft touch on his knee took his breath away, and he forced his eyes open. Brandon's hand rested on his knee, and he looked at him with desperate, heartbreaking sadness.

"I'm sorry," Brandon whispered, some unidentifiable emotion lurking deep in his eyes. "I'm s-sorry. I'm - I'm hurting you, too. I'm _sorry._ I just...I j-just keep hurting _everyone."_

Ronnie shook his head, grabbing Brandon's hand from its place on his knee and rubbing its back with his own thumb, looking down at their entertwined fingers for a long minute.

"Bran...it is _not_ your fault, okay? You only make all of our lives a thousand times better. _That's_ your fault, that we'd all be miserable without you...but it is absolutely not your fault that we_ worry,_ okay? Is it _my_ fault that you worry about me?"

Brandon shook his head mutely, and Ronnie smiled sadly. "See? So how can it be your fault if it's the other way around? We worry about the people we love, that's all. _It is not your fault._ Okay?"

"Okay," Brandon murmured, a tiny, hesitant smile turning the corners of his lips upward.

"There you go, Bran," Ronnie whispered, squeezing his hand again before letting it go and settling more comfortably onto the bathtub ledge. "Alright, let's do this, B - so your kids can stop comparing you to a cactus. Can you give me the shaving cream, please?"

Brandon just blinked at him, bewildered.

"Look down, B - it's in your lap," Ronnie prompted, fighting the urge to laugh. "I gave it to you too long ago, I guess - I'm sorry. Can I have it back, please?" Brandon looked down, regarding the shaving cream in surprise for several long seconds, his shoulders gradually slumping in clear defeat as Ronnie watched.

"I'm sorry, I...I f-forgot," he mumbled into his lap, handing it over, and Ronnie took it absently, distracted by an unpleasant, sneaking suspicion rollicking within his belly. He touched Brandon's chin with his fingertips, gently forcing his head up - sure enough, tears filled his eyes, bright and sparkling.

_ Wow, I'm a dick - to think I almost laughed at him for that...Bran, I'm sorry._ The mirth that had nearly bubbled over into a laugh dissolved at once, leaving a sickening pang of guilt in its place.

"Oh, fuck it all - come _here,_ Bran," Ronnie said softly, sliding his body to the very edge of the bathtub and reaching out to hug him. His long arms enveloped his friend's slim frame with ease despite the extra inches of space between them, and Brandon's face crumpled in earnest as he tucked his head into his shoulder, his body shaking with sobs.

A storm of broken, mangled apologies rained down upon Ronnie between choked gasps of breath, each one stabbing the drummer's heart like a poisoned arrow. _Look what I did to him with just a little question. He was doing alright and then I had to go and break him all over again._ Hugging his friend tightly and rubbing small circles into his back, Ronnie murmured into his ear, his own voice warped by emotion and echoing oddly in his ears.

"Bran, please don't apologize to me - _please._ It was _my_ fault, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's been forever since I gave it to you, and we've been talking about everything under the sun since - please, B, it's_ okay._ It's only a symptom, that's all, it's completely normal. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, little brother. _Nothing._ It's okay, B, it's _okay._ It's not a big deal."

Brandon shook his head violently against his shoulder, taking great, shuddering breaths. "No - but - b-but it is, Ron...it _is!_ I'm so - so _stupid,_ Ronnie...how could a-anyone - how can you...p-put up with me? So s-stupid..."

His voice broke and he dissolved into tears once more, squeezing Ronnie with all his strength. _Stupid?! He thinks - ah, Bran...no!_ Ronnie's heart shattered, splintering in his chest and he nearly recoiled away from his friend in shock.

"Bran - no, _no,_ you're _not - "_ he began quietly, but Brandon shook his head again and interrupted, his voice soft and tremulous, his tears rolling down Ronnie's arm in warm tracks, each one like boiling water searing his skin.

"I can't...I can't do anything, I can't - I can't _r-remember_ anything, I c-can't - I can't...the kids gave me a...a g-gift in the hospital, Ron...I _think_...maybe it was o-only a dream - m-maybe they wouldn't r-really...I don't _know_...I can't t-tell anymore...but I just - I don't - I d-don't _remember_ it."

Pressed into his shoulder, Brandon's voice was muffled, but Ronnie's blood ran cold. _Oh, God, no. The book we took away from him, when he said he should've died._ He squeezed Brandon even tighter, tears pricking at the corners of his own eyes as he listened to his friend.

"I can't even r-remember what it _is,_ Ron, and I - I can't _f-find_ it and I think I - I think I _lost_ it, Ron, and I j-just...w-what...what k-kind of father loses a...a g-gift from their _kids?_ I can't...I've been t-trying, I _promise_ I'm _trying,_ but...b-but I don't even know - w-what kind of h-horrible, _horrible_ fucking f-father_ forgets_ something...s-something like that, Ronnie?"

At a complete loss for words, Ronnie could only hold him until his tears had finally run dry, wracking his brain for the right things to say. H_e's such a mess...and I swear he's only been even more emotional since we left the hospital. There's no consistency now, and they said he needs that - he's waking up in a new place every damn day._

Finally, the silence of the bathroom was only broken by Brandon's occasional soft sniffles, and Ronnie squeezed him tighter against his chest. "Bran?" he ventured, careful to keep his voice quiet and gentle. A tiny grunt of acknowledgement satisfied him; he was listening.

"Bran...I love you. Tana loves you. Your dad, your siblings, the rest of your giantass family, they all love you. And your kids...they love you _so_ much. They _adore_ you. And none of our feelings have changed since the accident, okay? If anything, we love you _more,_ that's all. I mean, God, Bran - "

Ronnie had to stop and laugh, unable to contain it. "Bran, you saved my fucking _life_ on that fucking mountain. We forgot to tell anyone where we'd gone and that damn state is full of mountains. We might've been stuck there for days or weeks, we'd have run out of food...you could've chosen to just head down the mountain and go find help, get _yourself_ to safety first at least, but you went and risked your damn _life_ to get that phone...for _me."_

Ronnie's voice began steadily losing volume and becoming more gravelly as his emotions got the better of him. "You got hurt _for me,_ you almost died _for me,_ and then you walked or crawled or whatever back up that fucking miserable piece of shit mountain for _hours_...for _me._ And then when you finally made it back to me, do you know what the first words out of your mouth were when I saw you?"

Brandon didn't respond, and he poked his arm gently. "Bran, that was a real question, little brother. Do you know what you said to me when I saw you?" He shook his head slightly, nestled against Ronnie's shoulder, clearly listening intently.

"You came stumbling up the fucking mountain, calling for me, 'cause I'm a dumbass, I didn't follow instructions and I wasn't where I was supposed to be. And you had obviously been through hell, you were all covered in mud and _blood_ and you couldn't use your arm and you kept tripping on the rocks and slipping in the mud, you kept falling and - _and getting back up._ All the way up that horrible fucking mountain."

Ronnie stopped, wiping tears from his face, his chest convulsing as he stifled a sob. Brandon's arm tightened around him in a wordless attempt to comfort him, and Ronnie lost his composure entirely. He embraced his friend for all he was worth, weeping onto his shoulder. "S'okay," Brandon mumbled into his ear, squeezing him so tight he could hardly breathe, forcing the spasms from his lungs. "It's o-okay, Ron."

An odd, strangled noise suddenly reached Ronnie's ears, and he realized it was himself - a bizarre mutant, half-sob, half-laugh. With a deep, shaky breath, he swiped furiously at his face, sending the tears away, and turned his head to kiss Brandon's dark hair. "I love you, B," he whispered, kissing him again, just shy of his scar. _"I love you._ Thank you."

Ronnie settled his chin on Brandon's shoulder, deciding this was as good a place to tell his story as any other, and tried to recall where he had left off. He reached back and touched Brandon's knee lightly, caressing his kneecap as he remembered.

"Your legs were just covered in these terrible, nasty scrapes and cuts, and your poor head...it was a mess. But when you got to me, you asked me if I was okay. You were like half-dead, and _I_ was your first priority.

"I mean, _Bran,_ I could never, ever repay that, not if I had a million years to try. Your whole body had gone to hell and I was just sitting there crying over a bum ankle, but...all night you'd been sick worrying about _me,_ trying to come back to help_ me_ and make sure _I_ was okay. I just...I don't even have the words to tell you how much I appreciate that, little brother - nothing except 'thank you, thank you, _thank you,'_ and 'I _love_ you.' You're my goddamn _hero,_ Bran."

His story finally finished, Ronnie let the ensuing quiet wash over him, closing his eyes. After an eon of silence, he jumped in surprise when Brandon's voice whispered into his ear, soft and sincere. "Thanks, Ron. _Thanks."_

"Ahh, all I did was tell you a story about _you,_ but you're welcome," he murmured, his voice tight and gruff with emotion. "Anytime, little brother. I love you, okay?"

Brandon sniffled, hugging him close again. "Okay. I love _you."_ Ronnie sighed, then opened his eyes and groaned. The bowl of water and razor sat just within his peripheral vision, taunting him with a task left unfinished.

"Bran, I came in here to help you shave the rest of your face. I should do that, shouldn't I? We can't have you walking around half-shaved. We've been in here ages now, your wife is gonna come check on us," he teased. "She's gonna think I can't handle it myself."

Brandon giggled, squeezing Ronnie tighter one last time before releasing him and pulling away, blinking rapidly in the light as he finally opened his eyes again. "Oh. Okay."

Ronnie reached for the washcloth, dunking it in the water and wringing it out. He reached for Brandon's face, tipping his chin upwards slightly. A tiny, broken whimper escaped his lips and Ronnie froze, then noted the strain written in his friend's face as he forced his head toward the ceiling light.

"Sorry, B - I know it hurts, just close your eyes, alright?" He needed no further prompting, and Ronnie wiped his face with the warm cloth.

"I'll be quick," he promised as he swapped the washcloth for the shaving cream and shook the can, listening to the familiar quiet rattle within. He spritzed a small amount of white foam onto his fingers and covered the left half of Brandon's face. Idly, he swished the head of the razor through the warm water while he waited a few seconds for the cream to take effect, then shook the excess water into the bathtub.

"Okay, Bran, I'm gonna start by your ear and move down," Ronnie said softly, supporting Brandon's head with his left hand and carefully removing the layer of dark stubble inch by inch. With every stroke he rinsed the razor in the bowl, taking care not to miss any spots.

"All done, B," he announced as he wiped his face clean and wrung out the washcloth one last time, tossing it into the bathtub. Brandon opened his eyes, and Ronnie reached out to touch the cheek that his friend had shaved himself - as had become commonplace in the last month, his skin was marked with several cuts from the shaking and spasms of his hand, small scarlet-brown marks of dried blood.

"You know, Bran, I'm really, _really_ fucking proud of you. You're really doing so good at that right side - you've gotten so much better since you first started. All your work is paying off, really! Ernie would be so damn proud - but I'm a thousand times prouder than he could _ever_ be," he added, smiling at the little light of gratitude that sprang to life in Brandon's eyes.

"Thanks," he whispered, a little answering smile lifting the corners of his lips. Ronnie beamed back at his friend.

"It's just the truth, Bran, but you're welcome," he murmured, reaching for his first crutch and standing, then holding out his free hand and offering his support to Brandon. He grasped it and Ronnie gently helped him to his feet, then pulled him in for a hug, sighing and resting his head on his shoulder.

"I really, really love you, B, and I meant it - you're my hero. I'll tell you that story every damn week if I have to, and it would make me so happy to keep telling you - because it's my favorite story in the world, and because you need to know how much of a badass you are.

"I know...I know this is the hardest thing you've ever had to do in your life, and I know I can barely even grasp the tiniest bit of exactly how difficult this is, but you _can_ do this, little brother - _we_ can do this, and it _will_ get better. It _will_ get easier, I promise. Okay?"

Brandon sighed, leaning his head against Ronnie's for a moment. He was silent for several seconds, then finally whispered: "Okay."


	57. Chapter 57

After another few hours' drive, the group filed into another hotel lobby and instinctively drew closer together - this particular hotel was _packed,_ and about a dozen people milled aimlessly around the lobby or lounged in the luxurious sofas.

"Uh, Ron? Someone might recognize you guys. Maybe we should go find another hotel?" Olivia whispered, but Ronnie shook his head.

"We can't do that to Brandon, he's already used up most of his energy. We can't make him get in and out of the car again, and make him walk twice as far as usual. Let's just...get a room and get out of here quick."

Ronnie made a beeline for the front desk, thankfully with an available clerk - at least they wouldn't have to wait in line.

"Ohhhh, man,_ The Killers!"_ the clerk breathed, all the color draining from his face as the group approached. He ogled Brandon and Ronnie as they drew nearer, his eyes almost popping out of his head in shock.

Ronnie stepped closer to Brandon protectively as they reached the clerk's desk and glanced down to find that his face was bloodless and strained behind his sunglasses, nervousness clear in the hard set of his shoulders.

"It's okay, B," he murmured, reluctantly moving away and stepping in front of his friend, shielding him from the clerk's view and sneaking a quick glance at his embossed nametag. Olivia stepped up beside him, hastily pulling her wallet from her purse. Behind his back, he felt Tana take his place at Brandon's side, heard her soft whispers of comfort.

"Shhh, kid," Ronnie hissed, squeezing the grips of his crutches anxiously, beseeching him. "We're trying _not_ to be recognized. We just need two rooms, that's all - one family-sized. Can you do that, Aaron?"

The young man gulped audibly as Ronnie stared him down, his eyes darting to the several other people gathered in the lobby. "Um - um...yes, s-sir, Ron - uh, Mr. V-Vannucci. Yes, sir," he stammered, his trembling fingers flying over his keyboard.

"I, um...I love you guys so much," he whispered after a moment, his eyes glued to his computer screen. "Amazing. I mean, I can't believe - oh my god, you're standing right in front of me!" his voice began to rise hysterically, high-pitched and excited, drawing curious looks from the other guests.

"I said be _quiet,_ kid," Ronnie groaned, glaring daggers at Aaron. He ducked his head sheepishly and mouthed an apology as he accepted Olivia's credit card and swiped it, waiting a few seconds before retrieving keycards from his desk drawer and handing the credit card back to Olivia.

"Here you are, Mr. Vannucci," he said, his voice hushed and his face red with embarrassment. Ronnie reached for the cards, but Aaron pulled them back an inch or so, swallowing nervously and glancing at a pad of sticky notes beside them.

"Wait, I - um...could I - could I..." Ronnie huffed impatiently, but obliged and snatched a pen from his desk, scribbling his autograph on a neon yellow note. Sliding the pad across the desk to the clerk, he grabbed the hotel keycards.

"There you go, Aaron. Thanks for the help. Not a word to anyone until we check out, alright?" The clerk nodded vigorously, his eyes wide. "Great. Have a good night."

He turned to herd the group to the elevators, but a shaky whisper stopped him. "I um...Mr. Flowers, sir, could I - um, could I maybe - uh, maybe get your autograph too? Please?"

"He's not feeling so great, kid, we've gotta go," Ronnie said shortly, eying Brandon's pale, sickly skin warily. _He looks like he's gonna pass out or something - we've never had to deal with this kind of thing...not yet._

"Sorry, we've gotta go," he repeated firmly, reaching out to touch Brandon's arm, but suddenly his friend was stepping forward silently, bypassing his hand and reaching for the discarded pen. With bated breath, Ronnie watched the clerk push the notepad back across the desk, clearly in awe, and stared as Brandon scrawled a slow, rather shaky version of his own autograph beneath Ronnie's.

_ "Wow_...thanks, Mr. Flowers, sir," Aaron breathed, gazing down at the sticky note as if it were the most precious thing he'd ever seen in his life. "Wow, thank you. _Thank you!_ Oh my God, I just _love_ you guys. You're the best."

"Yeah, thanks, kid," Ronnie said absently, unable to believe what he had seen himself, blinking in astonishment at the autograph the clerk had been given. _'Oh my God' is right; he has no idea. I've never seen him even try to write before._

"Come on, Bran, let's go," he added, touching his friend's back gently, suddenly finding himself fighting back tears as an overwhelming wave of pride filled his heart. "Let's go find our rooms." The clerk's eyes lingered on Brandon, clearly noticing that _something_ was wrong with him, but he caught Ronnie's eye and zipped his lips shut with his fingers solemnly.

Obediently, Brandon turned away and allowed Ronnie to lead him to the elevator, Tana sticking close by his side once more. Careful to keep his steps very slow, Ronnie listened to the children behind him, whispering excitedly to each other. Privately, he couldn't agree more. As the elevator doors closed in front of them, he rubbed the tears from his eyes and finally turned to Brandon, gaping openly.

"Bran, you really - _wow,_ I'm so proud of you," he choked out, staring at him. "You didn't have to, you know. But you did so good!"

He shrugged and bit his lip, clutching the elevator rail behind his back with a white-knuckled hand, looking vaguely green as the elevator jerked upwards, the hidden mechanics creaking unpleasantly. "I - I wanted to. We might n-never - we m-might never give him any more...um..oh, you know, so - so I...b-but at least...I - I could d-do...that."

"You did good, baby," Tana whispered, looking up at him. "So good." He offered her a tentative little half-smile that quickly faded away as the elevator doors opened with a soft chime and Tana moved away from him.

"Ronnie, can you stay back here with Brandon while we go find our rooms? I don't want to make you guys run around with us."

"Yeah, of course," Ronnie said quietly, sticking his crutch into the door's path as the group filed out, the kids pushing the steel luggage cart down the hall behind their mother. Brandon took a single tottering step forward after them and stopped abruptly, practically falling into the side of the elevator, clutching at the handrail to catch himself. He leaned heavily against the rail taking deep, shuddering breaths, his chin tucked into his chest.

"Whoa, whoa - you okay, Bran?" Ronnie didn't get an answer, and he hit the button to hold the doors open and watched his friend anxiously, unsure what to do. _Last time something like this happened it hurt him to be touched...maybe I should stay here, give him a little space?_

Brandon took deep breaths, gripping the handrail so tightly Ronnie swore the imprints of his fingers would be permanently engraved in the glossy wood, and a sudden realization hit him as he looked at his hand.

"It's the elevator, isn't it? It threw you for a loop, knocked out your balance, didn't it? It's sure not smooth, and we went up a long way."

Brandon hummed softly in agreement, not even bothering to nod, and Ronnie glanced out of the open door at the brass number 13 hanging on the hotel wall beside the elevator across the hall. "Ahhh, that's it. It's okay, B. Don't move. There's no rush at all, take all the time you need to get sorted, okay? It's okay."

Several minutes passed in silence until Tana and Olivia came back down the hall, at first meandering leisurely, and then running as they realized neither of their husbands had left the elevator. "What's wrong?" Tana gasped, coming to a stop outside the doors and leaning over, her hands on her knees.

"The elevator messed him up - his balance, you know? No, it's _okay,_ we can wait, B. Don't _move,_ there's no rush," he reassured Brandon, who had suddenly flinched and straightened at the sound of his wife's worried voice. He released the handrail and took a hesitant step forward, swaying ominously and whimpering in discomfort, his trembling hand rising to cup the base of his skull.

Ronnie moved toward him, but Tana was quicker. Before the drummer had even completed a step on his crutches, she was there, wrapping her arm around his waist. She touched his hand, trying to guide him back to the rail, but he hissed and jerked away the second she made contact with his skin, stumbling dangerously as he leaned away from her and lost his balance. Ronnie heard Tana's sharp intake of breath when he caught himself on the rail and watched her slowly lower her arm back to her side, blinking furiously, her eyes bright.

"Sorry, I - I forgot, Brandon. I didn't mean to hurt you. But it's _okay,_ baby. Just stay here until you feel better, okay? Please. It's not safe for you to move yet. It's okay." She looked up at his face once he was settled again, her own face deathly pale, and then spared a glance for Ronnie. "He's had all his meds, right?"

He nodded, patting his phone in his jeans pocket. "Yeah, just an hour ago. He should be fine until nine o'clock." She gave him a strained smile, and leaned against the handrail at her back, studying the elevator floor in silence as they waited for Brandon to recover.

Ronnie measured the passage of time in the activity of the other elevators, listening to dozens of soft chimes of success and countless groups of guests traipsing down the hallway.

Some were unbearably loud, filled with rowdy twenty-somethings or unruly children. He winced in sympathy for Brandon every time, watching him flinch violently, then shrink upon himself and desperately try to lean his ear into his shoulder to stifle the sounds of each raucous wave of newcomers, afraid to move his hand and lose the support of the rail.

Finally, Brandon took a deep breath and pulled away from the elevator's wall. Tana watched him for a moment, then moved out of the way, back into the hallway with Olivia. He looked at Ronnie, then swallowed and took a single careful step, trailing his hand along the smooth wood, his eyes fixed on his feet. He paused for a few seconds as he reached the end of the rail, then released it and took another shaky step, slowly making his way out of the elevator to join his wife.

Ronnie let out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding and hit the button to release the doors, following his friend into the carpeted hallway. Tana squeezed Brandon's shoulder tentatively, whispering something in his ear that triggered a tiny smile. She looked down the hallway, then back at Brandon.

"Do you want to sit down and rest for a while, honey? Our room is pretty far away - there's a bench just over there if you want to take a break." He looked at the door, which stood partially ajar halfway down the hall, then back at one of the elevators as it chimed and released another group of people onto their floor. He sighed and shook his head.

"Stay back with me, then, Bran?" Ronnie suggested quietly. "We'll go slow." He nodded, touching Ronnie's hand in thanks as Tana and Olivia turned to lead the way. On wavering legs, he took one step after another, and Ronnie made sure to stay a step behind him as they made the long trek down the hall.

When they were nearly to their door, two young kids came whizzing by in their own private race to the elevators, followed by a man with a long-suffering expression at a more sedate pace. Brandon stopped, staring after the family. Ronnie watched him; he tore his eyes away as the family entered the elevator. Standing motionless, Brandon's gaze returned to his feet with a little sigh, clearly confused and sad.

Ronnie waited a few seconds for him to regain his bearings, then softly asked: "Bran, do you want to keep going? Your room is just here, just a few more feet."

Brandon looked up at him, startled, and then followed his gesturing hand to the open door before him. He took one last look back at the elevator, and took a step forward. Tana stood near the door now, waiting - silently, Brandon passed her and entered the room.

He headed straight to the bed, sitting on its edge, and reached up to remove his sunglasses in the dimness of the room. Blinking heavily, he looked at his feet. Tana closed the door and sat down beside him, wrapping her arm around his back and leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I'm really proud of you for giving that kid your autograph, you know," she murmured, tracing around his hand on his thigh with a gentle finger. "You just made that boy's whole life, Brandon."

He shrugged slightly, sighing. "Tired," he whispered, and she raised her head and stood, giving him space to lie down. Moving to the other side of the bed, she sat again and watched him, stroking his hair softly.

"That's alright, go to sleep, baby. Go to sleep." She looked up as Ronnie shifted in the entryway, pointing to the door and asking silent permission to leave for his own room. She nodded, and he slipped out with Olivia while Brandon succumbed to sleep.


	58. Chapter 58

Early the next morning, Tana led her family through the mercifully empty hotel hallway toward the elevators. Ronnie followed along behind the rest of the group, bringing up the rear with Brandon.

She stopped in front of the gleaming metal doors, regarding them anxiously._ I hope this goes better than last night did._ She had deliberately chosen a different lift than the one they had used last night, hoping it would be a smoother ride.

"Hey, Tana?"

She turned at Ronnie's soft voice, watching him stump slowly toward her family, trailing just behind Brandon. "Hey...maybe this is a dumb idea, but I was just thinking - what if we break up the ride? Like, if we only go down a few floors at a time? Maybe that would be easier?"

She cocked her head, watching him for a moment and then turning her eyes to her husband, who stood motionless and steady, studying the carpet behind dark sunglasses. _He's doing so good, for now, at least. I don't want to mess anything up for him. We can't have a repeat of last night, that looked awful._

"It's...it's worth a try, I guess," she said slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. "It might help. Brandon, do you think it'll be alright if we go down just a couple of floors at a time?" He only shrugged at the floor, not looking up from his feet.

"Okay, um...let's try it. We're on the thirteenth floor, so we'll just go down to eleven and stop for a bit, alright?"

She hit the button to summon the lift and waited a few seconds, listening to the soft whirring of its machinery and the cheery ding that announced its arrival. She beckoned the children in first with the luggage cart, then allowed Brandon and Ronnie to enter, and finally squeezed inside herself beside Olivia.

Just a few seconds passed before the doors opened again, and she exited the elevator and turned to watch Brandon follow her, still looking relatively sure-footed. "Was that better, honey?" she asked anxiously, wishing she could see his eyes through his dark lenses. He nodded silently, leaning against the wall to rest. Soon, he looked up at her again, gesturing toward the elevator.

Descending two floors at a time, they made it to the fifth floor before Brandon began to look more wobbly, and this time when he left the elevator he made a shaky beeline for a nearby sofa, sinking into it gratefully and lowering his chin onto his fist, his elbow resting on his knee. Tana approached him on quiet feet and knelt before him, touching his shoulder gently.

"Baby, are you okay?"

He nodded, offering her a little smile and taking a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. "Tired. Just...j-just gonna stay here f-for - for a bit. O-Okay?"

She smiled brightly back at him, squeezing his shoulder and rising to her feet. "Of course! Just let us know when you're ready to go again - _absolutely_ no rush, okay? We have all the time in the world, Brandon." He didn't reply, but she took the little droop of his shoulders as he relaxed into the sofa to be assent.

Tana joined Olivia and Ronnie against the wall about twenty feet away, keeping an eye on her husband as he rested. Her boys had decided to race each other down the hall and back - Ammon was only jogging, allowing his younger brothers to beat him easily. Ronnie grinned at her, inviting her into his conversation with Olivia with a little wave of his hand against the grip of his crutch.

"Livvie and I were just talking about how good it is that this - you know, _this_ whole thing - happened in America and not Europe or England or Brazil or something. You know? We're decently big here, but we really don't have too many problems with recognition or being bothered or anything like that. We'd be fending off fans left and right in the hospital if the accident had been in England. There'd be no keeping it from the press, either."

Tana shivered, hugging herself and pressing her spine hard into the wall behind her.

"Ugh, Ron, please don't put that in my head. Can you imagine how _hard_ it would have been? This is awful already, but _that_...we would've had to sedate him for the plane ride just to get him home. I'm sure his Xanax won't cut it anymore, and the stress probably would've...it would've killed him."

She worried her bottom lip, staring at Brandon's figure slumped into the cushions of the sofa. "He's so much more..._anxious_ right now, so high-strung. He already was a little bit of a nervous person before, but now...I don't know how he's ever going to handle flying again - it was practically a form of torture_ before,_ you know? Now his whole life is like that."

Ronnie snorted, but nodded and sobered quickly. "Yeah...he really only put up with it for the fans, for me and the rest of the band, the crew...everyone else. It makes it all worth it, no matter how hard it is. He doesn't...he doesn't want to let us down. He doesn't want to let _anyone_ down."

He opened his mouth to continue, but hesitated and scraped dust off of the adjustment screw on his left crutch with a fingernail, his eyes serious.

"Do you think...when he starts seeing a psychiatrist again, do you think they'll have to change his meds? I mean, I know they put him on an anti-depressant at the hospital, I've seen the list, I give him his pills, but - do you think Xanax will work for flying still? If he ever does recover enough to do music again at all, anyway...we're gonna have to figure all that out again, I guess."

She shrugged and sighed, rubbing her face. "I don't know, Ronnie...I mean, we went from having one problem to treat that only mattered around planes and airports to having like a dozen different problems that are _constant,_ not just...situational. I don't know, we'll see. We're getting close to Utah, we should be home late tonight and his appointments start in a few days. I got him in as soon as I could. We'll just have to see how it goes."

Scuffing her shoes on the blue and gold carpet, Tana picked nervously at her fingernails. Finally, she tore her gaze away from Brandon, who now huddled on the sofa, cradling his head in his hand, and looked at Ronnie.

"But, um...speaking of flying, Ron - I know I already said this, but I just wanted to thank you again for fighting for Brandon on the mountain when he couldn't speak for himself. For keeping him off the helicopter, for looking out for him. It helped me and the kids so, so much to know that he had you there with him. I heard Ammon tell Henry several times that he shouldn't worry, because Brandon was with _you_ and Uncle Ronnie wouldn't let anything bad happen to their dad."

Ronnie's face fell, and he dropped his eyes to the floor. "Yeah, well, I _did,_ didn't I?"

Olivia jabbed him in the side with her elbow, leaning into him slightly. "Shut up, doofus," she muttered, giving him a fierce sideways hug. "You didn't push him off the cliff. Promise."

Tana shook her head, smiling at Olivia. "It is absolutely not your fault, Ron - not one of us has ever blamed you for a second. Brandon...he - he _trusts_ you, in a way that - well, he doesn't trust _anyone_ like that now - no one except you. He doesn't even trust _me_ anymore. He just...he really, really needs you, Ronnie."

"Tana, I don't think - it's not that he doesn't _trust - "_

She interrupted him, her voice high-pitched and insistent. "No, I think that's_ exactly_ it, Ron. Remember all those years ago when he burned his hand trying to fix his car? He trusted me to help him do things back then, only a few months after we met...but he doesn't trust me to help him now. He asked for _you,_ not me, when he needed help."

Taking a deep breath, fighting the monster of nausea growing in her stomach, Tana forced herself to give voice to something that had been brewing in her brain for days.

"I think...I think I must be doing something _wrong,_ I'm saying or doing something wrong and whatever it is, I'm hurting him, and I'm...I've been trying to push him into telling me what the problem is, but I - I guess that's not really fair to him, is it?

"I mean, I'm his _wife,_ I should be able to figure out why I'm...making him uncomfortable. I've been trying to force him to spell it out for me but he - you know, it's so much work for him to work out what he's feeling _anyway_ right now, and then to have to tell me what he feels and why he feels that way...I think maybe I'm asking too much of him. I just have to figure it out myself."

Ronnie sighed, brushing her hand with his own. "I - he hasn't really told me anything about that, but honestly, I don't think it's specifically _you,_ Tan. I think it's just that he doesn't want to be a burden - to you, to _anyone._ He was so upset the other day that I asked Gunnar to help us; I asked him to bring a bowl of warm water and turn on the light and he almost cried just at that, because...it feels wrong to him. His _kids_ were having to take care of their _dad._

"He feels..._useless,_ like he keeps telling us. That word keeps coming back, all the time. He hates that he gets so tired, that he has to lie down after like everything - having breakfast, taking a shower, whatever. He just...he doesn't want to make anyone else worry about him, he doesn't want anyone else's lives to change for him - _because_ of him, you know? He's not very good at communicating right now but that's what I've gathered, and he's very consistent with that when he does talk to me."

Tana shrugged and started to formulate a rebuttal, but motion ahead caught her eye and she stopped cold. "Brandon's ready to go, look!" she whispered, elbowing Ronnie hard in the ribs.

Her husband had finally risen from the sofa and was making his way toward the elevator on his own, dutifully watching his feet with every careful, slightly wild step. Her children raced down the hall one final time to join their dad, slowing to a leisurely amble as they came close.

Ronnie grinned, swinging forward on his crutches and heading toward the little group. He stopped briefly to wink at Tana, and quietly calling back to her:

"We better get over there before they leave us all behind, shouldn't we?"


	59. Chapter 59

"Brandon...hey, Brandon, wake up, buddy."

A soft, nameless voice and a gentle pressure on his shoulder rudely brought Brandon out of the darkness of sleep.

"G'way," he groaned, fumbling blindly for the hand on his shoulder and pushing it away. This only made the voice laugh, and it whispered his name again, alive now with humor.

"Bran, come on. Wake up. We're almost home," it whispered, and Brandon realized suddenly through the dense fog that consumed his brain that it was Ronnie's voice, but the warm feeling blooming in his stomach was snuffed out as the last word registered.

_Home._ The word had lost its luster at some point; home didn't sound like a wonderful place anymore. Not like it should've been...it should've been the most glorious place in the world. Instead, a leaden weight settled in his gut at the thought of going home, bringing stirrings of nausea with it.

"Don'wanna...don'wanna g-g'home, R-Ron," he mumbled. He curled into a smaller ball on Ronnie's lap, trying to compress himself down to nothing. "No. Don...d-don'wanna."

Far from causing Ronnie to leave him alone, this drowsy admission only triggered another quiet chuckle, and then a gentle but insistent shaking of his shoulder.

"We're almost home, sleepy head. Wake _up,_ Bran."

"S'd...said _no,_ Ron," he snapped, covering his ear with his forearm, trying to shut out his unwelcome intrusions.

"Brandon, come on, you get to go _home!_ It's exciting! You haven't been home in ages! You've got to wake up!"

An abrupt wave of irritation overcame his semi-conscious brain at Ronnie's persistent enthusiasm, and he slapped for the hand on his shoulder.

A long hiss of pain caught his attention, cutting through the dark fog inside his head. Brandon forced his eyes open at last to see Ronnie pressing the back of his hand hard into his sweatshirt, his lips pursed, disappearing into his dark beard.

Brandon stared, not comprehending what had happened for a moment, and then it hit him.

"I...I _hurt_ you," he whispered, wide eyes fixed on Ronnie's hand and the single scarlet drop of blood visible against the grey fabric of his sweatshirt. "Sorry. I'm s-s-sorry. I'm - I'm _sorry."_

The drummer looked up from his hand in surprise, his eyes soft. "Brandon, come on, don't...you didn't mean to, it's alright. It's only your fingernail, you just got me a little bit. It's only a little scratch, not even as bad as a cat scratch - it's really_ okay,_ B."

Brandon shook his head, returning his gaze to Ronnie's hand, wrapped neatly in the sweatshirt. The drop of red blood on the downy grey fabric bored into him, taunting him. A sick bubble of guilt built in his stomach at the sight.

"No, n-no...it's - it's _not_ o-okay, Ron. I..._look,_ I_ hurt_ you.

Ronnie chuckled and removed his hand from the cocoon, showing Brandon the damage - an angry red scratch, maybe an inch long, across the top of his hand near his thumb.

"See, B? It's nothing. It's tiny. You've seen my hands after shows, you know I can handle way worse than this, right? I'll be fine. I promise. And I'm not mad at you, so you're not allowed to be mad at yourself. Okay?"

Brandon reached out to touch Ronnie's hand, feeling the delicate, papery skin near the cut. _But I hurt him. I did that._ He sighed, pulling his own hand away and closing his eyes, pressing his palm hard into his eyelids for a moment.

"I'm sorry. I d-didn't - I didn't m-mean to."

Ronnie's hand found his own, gently pulling his hand away from his face to reveal the drummer's familiar face, peering at him in clear concern.

"I _know,_ Bran. It's okay, I promise. I'm_ fine._ But - can we talk about what you said? Please. You don't want to go home?"

Brandon shrugged and stared down at the van's floor, listening to the comforting, constant drone of the vehicle's air conditioning. He took another deep breath and felt Ronnie squeeze his hand with gentle fingers.

"I just...I'm not - T-Tana, the kids...I d-don't...I shouldn't _b-be_ here." He watched the familiar streets of Park City skate past, fighting the renewed nausea that roiled anxiously in his stomach at the sight. "They d-deserve..._more._ Not me."

His friend wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him close. "Bran, it's okay. They love you, they just want to be with you, you know?"

Brandon shook his head, feeling his face crumple abruptly against his will, and he buried his face in Ronnie's chest to hide the tears, soaking his shirt. _But...do they?_

He felt Ronnie rest his chin on top of his head, felt his chest heave against him with a great sigh, felt the soft reverberations of his voice in his skull.

"Bran, I know you're scared...you're scared they're gonna be disappointed by you, aren't you? Because you're different now?"

"They're...they're g-gonna hate me, R-Ron," he mumbled, hugging him with all his strength.

He felt Ronnie's muscles tense beneath him for a moment as he breathed in sharply. "Bran, they could _never,"_ he whispered earnestly, wrapping him even tighter in his arms.

"Never. They all love you to death. We _all_ do. You'll get your rehab soon, and your therapists, and you'll start feeling better. This bullshit your brain keeps trying to tell you, B - it's just not true."

Brandon tucked his head more firmly against Ronnie's chest, consumed by the sudden, fervent wish that he could simply disappear into the cheery, colorful Hawaiian patterned fabric and leave the wreck of his life behind. He shivered and wrapped his arm around Ronnie's back, holding him as tightly as he could.

"N-No, but I - b-but they...R-Ron, I - "

Brandon shook his head and dissolved into sobs, abandoning his attempts to speak coherently. He heard his friend's quiet, soothing voice once more, though it echoed oddly as if from a great distance.

He realized with an odd, rushing jolt that he couldn't understand what Ronnie was trying to say - he couldn't find the energy to continue interpreting his words. His voice, though...it was the most beautiful thing in the world at that moment.

Just listening to his friend gradually calmed his pulse, slowing the fountain of tears. Brandon sighed, snuggling into Ronnie's chest once more as he continued his steady stream of reassurance.

"...promise, little brother. Everything will be alright, if you just give it time. You'll feel better soon, I promise. You're gonna be _home_ soon!"

Brandon felt another involuntary shudder pass through his body and he swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and murmuring into Ronnie's damp shirt.

"No. _Look,_ R-Ron,_ listen_ \- I can't - I'm only making...making Tana w-worse and worse. Every d-day. I'm n-not - not what she...I know it, I _see_ it. She's not - she d-doesn't - I can't _help_ her anymore. That's all she...all she n-needs and I...and I_ c-can't._ All I do is - is m-make her worse."

Ronnie was silent for a while, holding him close, resting his chin atop Brandon's head again. Finally, he spoke, a soft whisper filled with warmth.

"Brandon, it is _not_ your fault, okay? It's not...it's not your responsibility right now to put her needs before yours - you can't think like that, B. Not right now. We've got to get _you_ help. You need to get help for yourself before you can even think about helping her."

Brandon shook his head again and drew away slightly, looking up at Ronnie's face. His eyes were drawn to the row of tidy houses that rolled past the van's window behind his friend, brightly lit in the darkness of the evening.

We're close. A knot of anxiety pulled tighter in his stomach and he swallowed the lump that rose in his throat, threatening to bring him to tears again.

Ronnie followed his gaze and sighed, reaching for his hand and squeezing it softly. "You'll be alright, Bran," he whispered. "Me and Liv'll be moving in with you all tomorrow. You'll be alright. I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

Brandon's chest seized with panic, hot and constricted, like a snake had wrapped itself around his ribs. Suddenly, it felt as though he couldn't get enough air in his lungs.

"What d'you - w-what d'you mean? You're...you're _l-leaving?_ W-Why? Did I - d-did I do something bad? I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry - "

Ronnie held up his hand to stem the frantic flood, shaking his head vigorously. "No, Bran, no, no! Not at _all!_ No - "

"Please d-don't leave me. I...I can't, Ron. Please."

Ronnie's eyes softened, like dark velvet in the night, and he pulled Brandon close to his chest again. His torso heaved with a great sigh, and then he whispered into Brandon's ear, his voice barely louder than the droning air conditioning vents above their heads.

"I'm sorry, Bran, but it's only a day. I thought I told you, I'm sorry. Livvie and I have to go pack, we have to make sure we have all our shit sorted - we'll be away for a while, and there's been stuff piling up in the month we've been gone. I can't make her do all that by herself. But we'll be back in time for dinner tomorrow, okay? You won't even have time to miss us. I promise."

"P-Please, Ronnie. D-Don't...don't leave me alone," Brandon mumbled, feeling a yawning, black chasm open up inside his chest, threatening to swallow his fragile heart. "Please."

"I've _got_ to, Brandon. It's only a day, okay? I _want_ to be with you, more than anything, I _love_ you...I promise I don't want to leave, but I've got to go help Livvie. It'll be okay. Besides, you _won't_ be alone, you'll have Tana and your kiddos, right?"

Brandon could only sigh, unable to formulate a coherent response. Ronnie lifted his head from atop his own to look out the window.

"We're here, Bran," he whispered, gesturing to the grand house with a ghostly pale finger. "Go home and go to sleep. _Rest._ I'll be back before dinner tomorrow. Everything will be alright._ Promise."_


	60. Chapter 60

Brandon trailed reluctantly behind his family up the long, circular driveway to his house, which loomed over him; dark, empty, and vaguely threatening.

His children each carried a suitcase - Ammon struggled valiantly to control two rolling suitcases at once, and the sight only increased the anxious nausea tearing his stomach apart. _They're having to work like this...for me. Because of me. I should be carrying my own shit, and they know it._

He stumbled on the tiny ledge of an uneven flagstone and gasped, falling to his knees and slamming his hand onto the stone, his head bowed over his stinging knees.

Suitcases clattered to the ground and the pitter-patter of frantic feet reached his ears. Before he had even fully registered his fall, before he could even think about getting up, a small hand wrapped around his bicep.

"Daddy! Daddy, you okay?"

_ God damn it...Henry. My baby._ He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, a lump growing in his throat. His stomach sank further as other little hands joined his youngest son's - and other little voices.

"Dad, are you okay? These rocks are killer." Gunnar knelt in front of him, his suitcase fallen sideways to the flagstones, abandoned. His clumsy fingers fumbled for Brandon's legs, checking for blood, and carefully turned over his hand to examine his palm.

An icy, invisible boa constrictor wrapped around his heart at every light touch from his son. _Just like...like I used to do for them, when they fell._

A larger hand rested on his back, and then his oldest son - _not even in high school yet...Ammon, what are you doing? What am I doing to you?_ \- whispered in his ear, his voice pitched for Brandon's ears only. "It's okay, dad. We were probably walking too fast for you, huh? I'm sorry. We're just excited, we'll go slower. Are you okay?"

_ Too much - too many - stop, stop, stop._ He wrapped his arm around himself and lost the battle with his tears, a fight that had been doomed from the start.

"S-Stop," he whispered, and suddenly he felt all three of his boys draw back from him, startled - Brandon could practically feel the hurt oozing from each of them at that one word. Ammon spoke up, his voice tremulous and pained.

"Daddy, we're just - we wanna _help._ We can help you."

_ Ammon never calls me 'daddy' anymore, he thinks he's too old for it._ The word drove the snake to wind even tighter around his heart, squeezing it painfully.

"Don't. P-Please...stop," he repeated softly, swiping angrily at his tears. He could feel the pain that lurked quietly in his head, always battering faintly against his brain, beginning to increase once more. "J-Just - just _wait."_

Eyes closed, digging his fingernails into his thigh, Brandon heard Tana pacing around uncertainly somewhere in front of him - back and forth, over and over. The sounds of the night were all around them - softly croaking frogs, trilling little crickets, the rustling of leaves in the slight evening breeze.

Finally, he felt strong enough to continue and opened his eyes, heaving himself to his feet. Ammon hovered close behind him, and he felt a sudden iron grip around his hips as he wavered on the flagstones.

"It's okay, dad, I've got you," he whispered, and Brandon closed his eyes, fighting the lump that returned so easily to his throat. He brushed his son's hands away and nodded toward the door, beckoning him onward. Ammon hesitated, opening his mouth for a moment, and then nodded and retrieved his suitcases from their places on the driveway.

Watching his feet more closely, Brandon followed slowly behind and came to a stop behind the group as Tana fished inside her purse for her keys. A bright jingling announced her victory, and she fitted the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door.

She'd barely had time to step inside when harsh, excited barking assaulted them all, and Brandon moaned and stumbled backwards, sobbing and covering his ear, desperately trying to escape the deafening sound that drilled ashen, fiery holes into his brain.

He tripped on a flagstone once more and fell against the side of the house. He lay in a heap on the cold stone, burying his face in the crook of his elbow, trying to force the pain away.

" - shit, fuck - _Anni, no!"_

Tana's voice was shrill and panicked as the door slammed shut, slightly muffling the dog's barking. Something jangled, and even that noise felt like it was scraping Brandon's brain from his skull.

Barely distinguishable through the sounds of his own tears and gasps for breath, there was a harried whispered exchange and then several pairs of small feet scampered away, disappearing in seconds. A minute passed and Anni's barking became fainter and then vanished entirely, leaving only blissful quiet behind.

Brandon had no idea how long he waited for the fire in his head to subside. It only mattered that it _did,_ and he gradually managed to regain his composure as the pain faded away in the silence.

When he finally turned his head, resting his ear on his arm, he blinked at the sideways figure of his wife sitting cross-legged on the flagstones beside him.

In the warm light of the lamp mounted on the wall, he noted the redness of her eyes, swollen and puffy from her own tears. She stared vacantly at her feet, running her fingers nervously over the end of her disheveled, frizzy golden braid that glowed in the lamp light.

He watched her in silence for a few minutes until Tana looked up from her lap, starting in surprise as her eyes met his. She blinked rapidly at him, and abruptly her beautiful face crumpled like paper.

"I'm sorry, _I'm sorry,_ I forgot about the dog! I forgot he always barks at the door, I _forgot,_ I'm sorry," she whimpered, scrubbing the tears from her reddened cheeks as they fell. "I should've - I just keep fucking everything up, I keep _hurting_ you, Brandon, and I'm _sorry."_

He tried to force something comforting from the depths of his weary brain, but words eluded him, lost somewhere deep in the fog inside his head. Even a coherent sentence, a coherent thought was beyond him.

He only sighed softly, looking up at her. It didn't seem to matter, because she kept pouring herself out to him anyway, her voice shaky and tearful, high-pitched and anxious.

"I just keep - I'm _trying,_ baby, I'm trying, I swear to God I am, but I - I can't keep everything straight, it's all just this giant jumble of _bullshit,_ Brandon, and I can't - I'm _sorry._ I swear I'm gonna do better. I _promise."_

Her voice cracked and dwindled away, and she covered her mouth with her hand, watching an ant crawl cross the flagstone driveway. Brandon simply blinked her, looking at her delicate, spidery fingers in silence while he tried to gather his thoughts.

"Why?" he finally whispered, licking his cracked lips. She looked down at him blankly, clearly bewildered.

"What?"

Brandon closed his eyes for a minute attempting to formulate his fragmented feelings into a proper question. Beside him, he heard Tana shifting and fidgeting impatiently as she waited.

"Why...w-why d-do you want m-me...here? _H-Home?_ Why? It's...it's hard for you. For the kids. It's n-not - it's not _fair,_ Tana. Not fair t-to you. I hurt you. All of you. I'm n-n-not...I'm not..."

Brandon tried to wrack his tortured brain for the words he needed, but came up empty. He let the sentence slide away into nothingness, exhausted, and looked up at her, pleading for her to understand. She seemed even _more_ confused now, though, her eyebrows knitted together in consternation.

"Are you asking why I want my _husband_ here with me? Really, Brandon?"

He sighed, his heart sinking. _She doesn't get it. I'm not doing this right._ Tana's hand touched the back of his own where it lay on the cool stone beneath his head.

"Brandon, come here. Come here, baby. Please."

He hesitated, curling his hand into a loose fist under her fingers, and she withdrew her own hand, watching him with bright, teary eyes. _Stop being a baby; look, you're making her cry again._ Tana cleared her throat, dashing her hand across her eyes.

"Please, Brandon? Come here."

Slowly, he pushed himself upright and closed the few inches of space between them, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder beside his wife. Tana slipped her arm around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder with a soft, shaky exhale.

"Why would you ask me that, baby? I don't...I don't understand. Why is that even a question? You're my _husband,_ Brandon. I want you _with_ me. You're the father of my children, and you're my favorite person, and you're the sweetest, most loving, most amazing, kindest person I've ever met. I _love_ you, Brandon, and I need you. You're the best part of my life. Of _course_ I want you home with me."

He huffed in frustration, closing his eyes, and felt her raise her head from his shoulder with her own sharp intake of breath, felt her eyes burning holes into his skin, her voice sharp and irritated.

"God, Brandon, what am I doing wrong?"

He shook his head, fighting an awful weariness that crept through his bones and clouded his thoughts. _I can't make her understand. She never will._

"Please, baby, just talk to me."

He sighed, pulling away from her and rising to to his feet, bracing himself against the brick wall of his home.

"N-nothing. Never...never m-mind. Just...t-tired."

Disappointment weighed down her features and she sagged briefly, slumping against the wall like a ragdoll. She closed her eyes and slowly ran her hand down her face.

When her eyes opened again, the clear, desperate sadness in them sliced through Brandon's heart like a dagger. _Great, I've only gone and made her feel worse. Again._ He dropped his own eyes to his shoes, unable to bear looking at her any longer.

"Okay, let's get you to bed. I told the kids to put Anakin out back, so he won't bother you anymore. We can go in."

"I - I'm s-sorry," he whispered as Tana scrambled to her feet and led him to the door. She glanced back at him, distracted, her hand resting on the gleaming brass handle.

"Hm? Sorry, baby, what?"

Repeating the apology felt as impossible as climbing Mt. Everest, so he only sighed and shrugged, trying to reassure her with a little smile.

"N-Nothing. Not...n-not important."

She shrugged back at him, returning his smile with a shaky, but brilliant one of her own. Tana opened to door to reveal a house that felt at once comfortingly familiar and unbearably strange, the lights turned low all throughout the spacious entry and kitchen, as far as he could see.

"Come on, Brandon. Let's go home."


	61. Chapter 61

The faint, sweet chittering of songbirds woke Tana late the next morning, and she opened her eyes to find that she had firmly entangled herself around her husband in the night. She smiled, gently nuzzling Brandon's neck and sighed, relaxing into him. Only a few minutes passed before a nagging little voice inside her head disturbed her: _Get up, you've got things to do._

Tana wrinkled her nose, reluctant to leave the warmth and peace of their bed, but finally extricated herself from Brandon, careful not to disturb him. She sat up, running a hand through her tangled hair, and retrieved her phone from the bedside table. She had made a list of things to do over the last few days, and she blinked blearily at it on her phone's glowing screen, then looked back at Brandon regretfully.

_Suck it up and get out of bed, he needs help. We can cuddle more later, he won't go anywhere._ She pulled her slippers on, wiggling her cold toes gratefully inside them, and padded into their closet, grabbing her label maker from the shelf.

Methodically, Tana checked each of Brandon's drawers and made labels for each one's contents in the largest size print she could, carefully sticking each label to the drawers, then did the same for their various bottles in the showers and the drawers in the bathroom vanity.

She padded into the kitchen and labelled every drawer and cabinet with their contents as well, and finally returned to their bedroom to put her label printer away. As she emerged once more from the closet, she started and grinned: Brandon lay in bed, watching her in silence.

"Morning, Brandon!" she said brightly, crossing to the bed and leaning down to plant a kiss on his cheek. He offered her a little smile in return, and reached out to touch her hand.

"W-What are you...?" he trailed off, nodding behind her at the closet. She shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Just labelling everything for you. The doctors suggested it, said it would help you keep everything straight and help you remember what's in your drawers, you know?"

He nodded slowly, glancing at the massive oak dresser against the wall with its dozen drawers neatly labelled. "Oh."

"Did you want to take a shower, honey? Now that you're up?"

He shrugged, ambivalent, but swung his legs over the edge of the bed obediently. Tana moved out of the way and gave him room to stand, watching as he made his way to the closet and stood staring at his shirts, his eyebrows creased in apparent confusion.

Tana watched for a few seconds, then rose to her own feet and came to stand behind Brandon, watching curiously as he examined his shirts. Back and forth, over and over, his bemused hazel eyes travelled across the neat row of hanging shirts.

"What's wrong? Are you looking for something?"

He shook his head, dropping his eyes to his bare feet. "I don't - I c-can't...I don't know," he mumbled, blinking morosely at the hardwood floor.

She tilted her head, watching him, and then suddenly a realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

"I'm sorry, honey, that's too many choices, isn't it? I'm so stupid, I should've realized." He nodded at his feet, biting his lip, and she felt her heart jump at the mistiness in his eyes.

"Brandon, baby, it's _okay._ It's my fault. I should've...I should've known. It's okay," she repeatedly softly, tentatively touching his shoulder. He didn't react, just continued staring blankly at his feet, his eyes bright with unshed tears, and she sighed and dropped her hand, guilt squirming unpleasantly in her gut.

"Here, I'll choose your clothes for you, if you want? Can you move away, please?"

He nodded and stepped away from the row of shirts. Tana took his place, running her hand along them and peeking at each one.

"Here, just one choice for you, then: do you want a Killers shirt, Brandon?"

Expecting an enthusiastic affirmative, she nearly chose his old Day and Age shirt before she realized he had actually refused, shaking his head vehemently.

"You _don't_ want a band shirt?" she asked again, trying to clarify the question.

"No," he whispered, his voice hollow. "No. P-Please."

_ Well, that's really weird. I usually have to beg him to wear something else._ Tana obliged him and chose a faded red t-shirt with a bursting heart logo on it instead, and then retrieved socks, underwear and sweatpants from his dresser and dropped the little pile of fresh clothing onto the counter in the bathroom.

She moved the little slider on the light switch up about halfway, filling the room with rather dim amber light and turned the water on. She waited for it to reach a warm temperature, and stepped out again to join Brandon in the closet.

"There you go, honey. Can I help you take your sling off?"

He nodded, and she unfastened the velcro and slipped it over his head, folding the sling and placing it neatly atop the dresser.

"Are you...do you want help?" she asked hesitantly, sweeping her hair into a quick ponytail. Brandon shook his head.

"I can...I c-can do it."

Tana nodded and smiled at him, touching his arm softly. "Just...be careful, okay? Take your time, there's no rush at all."

She sat on the bed as he disappeared into the bathroom, diligently watching his feet with every step. _I wonder why he doesn't want to wear his band stuff anymore...he's refused it all ever since the accident, actually, hasn't he?_

Tana left the question unanswered, resolving to ask him about it another time. She busied herself with unpacking their luggage while Brandon showered, listening carefully to everything in the bathroom while she worked. Nearly twenty minutes passed before the water turned off, just as she finished unpacking Brandon's suitcases and moved on to her own.

Halfway through unloading her suitcase, a muffled clatter reached her ears, followed by a soft exclamation of "Shit!". Tana abandoned her luggage and crossed the room briskly, opening the bathroom door and peeking inside, her heart suddenly racing.

"Brandon, is everything - ah, _shit!"_

Brandon stood at the sink, dressed in the clothes she had given him. He held a white washcloth to his face; he had shaved the right side of his face with no more incident than usual, just a few small nicks, but then had moved onto the left side that gave him so much trouble - judging by the decent patch of bright red blood on the snowy cloth, he'd done a number on his face.

"Here, here," Tana murmured, opening the medicine cabinet and grabbing his styptic stick from the shelf, hastily popping the lid off. She took the washcloth from him and quickly dabbed the powder stick onto his cheek, then pressed the cloth back over it, pressing firmly. He had accidentally sliced the skin over his cheekbone by his eye - a cut as wide as the razor blade bled freely, weeping red.

"Brandon, _honey_...I _know_ you have trouble with this side, why didn't you ask me for help?" Tana asked quietly, searching his face desperately. He only shrugged, silent, refusing to meet her eyes.

"I can help, Brandon," she said gently, lifting the washcloth to check the bleeding. The powder stick had worked its magic admirably, and she dropped the bloodstained cloth to the bathroom counter. "I _want_ to help. You don't have to do it yourself. You don't have to hurt yourself."

He only stared at his feet, mute, blinking rapidly, and she sighed, tracing the damp skin of his cheekbone with her fingertip, avoiding the fresh cut.

"Well, I'm gonna help now, whether you want me to or not," she whispered, trying to soften her tone and keep her irritation out of her voice. He didn't respond, and she pursed her lips, watching him for a moment. _This is like pulling teeth, he's so...closed off._

She picked up the shaving cream and dispensed a small amount onto her fingertips, spreading it evenly across the left side of Brandon's face and neck. Very carefully, she shaved the rest of his face, periodically rinsing the razor in the sink.

A horrible lump had risen in her throat, making swallowing painful, as her husband continued to resolutely avoid eye contact with her, his misty hazel eyes permanently downcast. As she finished and rinsed his face with a fresh damp cloth, she placed the razor back on the bathroom counter and stood back, sighing.

"There, all done. But I...please, Brandon, why didn't you ask me to help you? I _know_ you have a hard time with that side. I don't mind helping, you know. I don't want you to hurt yourself. I can help. You...you asked Ron for help the other day. Why won't you let _me_ help?"

He just shook his head, blinking back tears, and gripped the edge of the vanity counter with white knuckles. Tana regarded him for a moment, noting his gentle swaying while he stood - he was tired.

"Well, if you're too tired to talk to me, I suppose you should go back to bed," she sighed, beckoning toward the open door. "Come on, then, Brandon."

He followed her out of the bathroom, stumbling slightly just as he crossed the threshold, and she slowed her steps, walking just barely ahead of him. Brandon fell onto the mattress and pressed his face into the plump pillow, his torso heaving with a great sigh. Tana bit her lip, watching him, and touched his shoulder softly.

"I love you," she whispered. He didn't react at all, hiding his face in the pillow, his arm over his head. She sighed, fighting back tears, and quietly returned to unpacking her luggage, unable to tear her eyes away from Brandon for long as he slept on the bed, alone.


	62. Chapter 62

Brandon opened his eyes, blinking lazily at the dim, cloudy strips of sunlight streaming across the floor through the cracks in their window blinds. The sight of the room he shared with Tana covered in labels made him feel rather ill, and he closed his eyes again to shut it out._ Like a child - worse than a child. I shouldn't be here. I don't want to be here._

He swallowed hard, bringing his painfully parched throat to his attention. _Water._ Brandon sighed, not ready to leave the warmth and comfort of his bed, and then reluctantly pushed the blankets away and eased his legs over the side of the bed. He sat still for a moment, trying to orient himself, and then carefully stood and made his way to the open bedroom door.

Staring out at the hallway, with three anonymous passages leading elsewhere in the house, he froze. His heart pumped uncomfortably fast, his fingers were suddenly icy cold and numb as he clutched the door frame. _I don't know...I don't know where to go. God, I...I don't know. I don't even know where my own fucking kitchen is._

A crushing wave of despair and shame stole Brandon's wobbly legs from beneath him, and he sank to the floor in the doorway to his bedroom, blinking absently at the long, empty stretch of shining hardwood hallway ahead of him. _I don't know where to go._ Hot tears sprang to his eyes, burning, and he squeezed them shut and buried his face in his knees, hugging his legs and losing himself in his tears.

A minute passed, and then something touched his back, unexpected and firm. He jerked up in surprise, flinching away and pressing his body sideways into the wall instead, trying to shield his back from the touch. He blinked up through the tears at a blurry figure who crouched before him, recognizing the bright blonde hair before her face came into focus, her arm returning to her side.

"Brandon, honey...what's wrong? I'm sorry, I meant to be there when you woke up, I just stepped out for a quick lunch. I'm sorry, baby. What's wrong?"

He shook his head, dissolving into sobs and pressing his face back into his knees. "I...I d-don't kn-know...I d-d-don't _know,"_ he forced out between gasping sobs, squeezing his knees even tighter. He felt Tana sit beside him with a soft sigh, her back against the wall.

"You don't know what's wrong?"

He shook his head violently, covering his head with his arms, squeezing, attempting to stifle his tears. He felt Tana's sharp intake of breath, felt her touch his left shoulder lightly.

"Hey, take it easy on that side, baby - I forgot to put your sling back on after you showered. I don't want you to hurt your shoulder."

He sighed and relaxed his arm obediently, blinking down at the swirling grain of the dark hardwood floor. Again, Tana's voice filled his ears, soft and tentative.

"Brandon, you mean you don't know what's wrong? You don't know...why you're upset?"

He shook his head again. _"No,_ I don't - I don't _know,_ T-Tana. I don't..." Brandon took a deep breath, then another, and forced himself to look up at her, loathing the high-pitched, pleading note in his voice, hating the pity that lurked in her watery blue eyes.

"I d-don't know where...where I am, I don't kn-know...I wanted to - to g-go..._s-somewhere,_ but I don't know...I d-d-don't know _w-where_...where that_ is._ I don't know how t-to...I just - I d-don't know, I don't _know."_

He dropped his head back to his knees, exhausted, unable to bear her horrified, stricken expression a moment longer. "Sorry...I'm s-s-sorry," he mumbled into his sweatpants, his eyes closed. "So s-stupid."

A deep, slow inhale, then a long sigh were his wife's only response for many seconds, and then he felt her arm settle softly around his shoulders, drawing him close.

"You're definitely not _stupid,_ Brandon," she whispered, her voice even tinier than usual, tight and choked with tears. Brandon wished fervently that he could simply shut out the miserable sound. _I'm making her sad. All I do is make people sad._

He felt her fingers touch his cheek, banishing a wayward tear. "You're _not_ stupid, love," she repeated again, her voice slightly stronger. "Not at all. You're just _hurt,_ Brandon. Remember what all your doctors and nurses and therapists kept saying? You need to be _kind_ to yourself. You need to be patient."

_No, I don't remember that._ Brandon could only scoff wordlessly in response, squeezing his knees once more. He heard another shaky sigh from Tana, and then the softest whisper.

"Brandon, baby...look at me? _Please._ Just look at me."

He ignored her plea, keeping his eyes firmly closed. "N-No...no. You're...you're _sad,"_ he whimpered into the inky blackness that surrounded him. "I m-make you...s-sad, Tana. I _hurt_ you. All the t-time. I'm not...not s-supposed to - to make you sad. I'm n-not...I shouldn't _b-be_ here."

A strange, bitter, tearful laugh assaulted his ears, a terrible sound he had never before heard his wife make. Brandon wilted farther into himself, resting his forehead on his kneecaps and shuddering. _She hates me._

"Brandon Richard Flowers, _look at me."_

He shook his head and sat silently for a minute, listening only to his own unsteady breaths, then felt her hand beneath his chin, carefully forcing his head away from his knees.

"Open your eyes, Brandon. Please. Look at me. I - I just want to _see_ you," Tana whispered, her confession utterly raw and tremulous with unshed tears. "Please, baby. I _need_ to see you. _Please."_

_She's begging._ I'm making her beg. Reluctantly, Brandon obliged and opened his stinging eyes, blinking rapidly at her pale face, blotchy and glistening with tears.

"Thank you," Tana breathed, the ghost of a smile lifting the corners of her lips. She reached out to touch his face with a trembling finger, tracing a delicate path along his jawline.

_"Brandon,_ you do _not_ make me sad, okay? You've done nothing in your life but make me happy."

She ducked her head, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek, then looked up at him again, her wide eyes sparkling with tears.

"I...look, I know I haven't...well, I haven't been doing a great job lately. I haven't really been a good wife. And I...I think I've been kind of...taking things out on you a little bit, maybe. I'm not...I'm new to this, you know? And I'm not trying to make excuses, I'm just - I'm just really, really, _really_ sorry if I've been...reacting to everything in ways that maybe have made you feel...like _this."_

Brandon shook his head in earnest, opening his mouth to speak, but she covered his lips gently with her finger.

"Don't, Brandon, _please_ \- not yet. Please, I just - I've been thinking a lot and I've got to get this out, okay?"

He stared at her for a moment, then sighed and rested his head against the wall behind him, silent.

"Thank you, baby." Tana smiled, hesitantly reaching for his hand. She stopped just short of his skin, a question lingering in her eyes, and bit her lip uncertainly. Closing her eyes briefly, she continued speaking, her hand still nearly touching his own.

"I just...I know this isn't at all the same as my...issues...it's so much worse, it's so much harder. I'm not trying to compare it, but...Brandon, you literally saved my _life,_ over and over again, every damn second since I met you. And...and when things got bad, when it wasn't - you know, it wasn't what you signed up for...you didn't run away, you stepped up."

She paused for breath, and Brandon shivered, hugging himself tightly and looking away from her. He heard her soft intake of breath, then felt her hand touch his own lightly.

"Brandon, it...why does it always feel like I make you uncomfortable when I tell you about how much you helped me? Is that the problem? I just...I'm only trying to return the favor. I don't understand. Is _that_ what bothers you? _Why?"_

"It doesn't...it d-doesn't matter."

"Of _course_ it matters, Brandon," Tana snapped, her voice suddenly harsh and irritated. Brandon winced and moved his hand away from hers, hiding it in his lap instead. They were both silent for a moment, and then Tana sighed, rubbing her face with a sluggish, shaky hand.

"I'm sorry, baby - I just...all I'm asking for is a chance to try to help you, Brandon. That's all. I just want a _chance._ Please. Can you...can you give me that?"

Brandon took a deep breath, examining the tangled swirls of grain in the wood flooring once more. His eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by his daily deluge of tears...it was as if sand were trapped beneath them, scraping his eyes with every slight movement. He closed his eyes and welcomed the comfort of the blackness, pressing his skull into the unyielding wall at his back.

"I don't...I d-don't..." He swallowed hard and stopped cold, hearing a tiny, stifled, choking sound from his wife. Forcing away the lump in his throat, he sighed wearily, squeezing his hands into pearly fists atop his knees. _Stop being a baby, Brandon. Tana doesn't want a baby._

"T-Try...I'll try," he whispered. Tana giggled in relief, her laugh like the jingling of a thousand merry bells, disturbingly at odds with the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

_ "Thank you,"_ she whispered, touching his hand softly again. "Now, let me go fetch your sling and then we'll try and get you something to eat, alright? You must be starving, you haven't eaten since dinner last night."

Brandon let her go, listening to the sound of her sure, confident steps on the wood floor. Just a few scant seconds passed before his wife returned and nudged him gently away from the wall so she could put the navy sling back into place. Tana offered him her hand, helping him to his feet and wrapping her arm around his waist.

"Come on, Brandon. Let's go find some lunch."


	63. Chapter 63

"Mom? Hey, mom?"

Tana looked up from the small pile of soapy dishes to find Ammon hovering discreetly behind the doorway to the kitchen, fidgeting nervously.

He peered past her as she dried her hands and approached him, glancing anxiously at Brandon, who sat at the breakfast nook staring blankly down at the remains of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and then looked back to Tana.

"Mom, Gunny and I were thinking," he began quietly, wringing his hands and staring back at his father once more. "We were thinking...maybe it would help if we let dad mess around on one of his keyboards? I think...I think maybe he misses it, you know?"

Tana hissed softly in response, leaning against the wall and watching her oldest son thoughtfully, noticing his brothers peeking surreptitiously around the corner at them down the hall and hiding a smile.

"I...um...oh, baby, I don't know if that's...it's very sweet of you, but I - well, to be honest, I think he's scared of the band. I don't know if we should...I don't know, Ammon. I mean...we don't even know if he still _can_ play piano. Maybe we should wait a few days, just until he starts therapy, and then run it by them."

Ammon wilted slightly, dropping his eyes to the tiled floor. "Oh...we didn't think about that...never mind, I guess. We just wanted to help."

She touched his shoulder and opened her mouth to comfort and thank him, but suddenly a soft voice spoke up behind them: "I'll go."

Tana turned on her heel so quickly she nearly lost her balance and grabbed for the wall to right herself, gaping at Brandon. He sat exactly where she had left him; across the kitchen at the breakfast nook, blinking owlishly at them.

"Brandon, I..." Tana gawked helpessly, at a loss for words. _I can't very well tell him 'no,' can I? He'd be crushed. But if it turns out he's not capable anymore, he'd...oh, I don't know._

"Brandon, are you _sure?_ You want to try playing your keyboard?"

He only nodded, his head tilted slightly in clear confusion as he studied her in return. Tana stared back at him, doubt and uncertainty creating a mire of nausea in her stomach.

"But - but what if...well, what if you _can't?"_ she asked tentatively, wincing even as the horrible words left her mouth. _But it needs to be asked, doesn't it?_

Brandon lowered his gaze, looking silently at the table before him. "Then I...I w-want to _know,"_ he finally whispered, bringing his eyes back to her face, his own features strained. "Please. I don't...I d-don't like not - n-not knowing."

_I can't say no to that...damn it._ Tana bit her lip, grasping for one last straw. "Don't you want to wait until tonight, until Ronnie is back?"

He blinked at her, his eyes wide. "Ron went home...r-right? Didn't he...? I d-don't...know."

"No, you're right, baby - but he just went home for the day, and then he'll be back this evening. He's moving in with us," she rushed to reassure him. Brandon relaxed slightly, obviously reassured that his memory wasn't completely faulty, but shook his head.

"I want to _know,"_ he repeated, his voice quiet but firm. "Please." Tana sighed, her options exhausted, and sagged against the wall in defeat.

"Alright, then...let's go. Lead the way to the piano room, Ammon - _slowly,_ please," she added pointedly, as her son began bouncing on his heels in anticipation, fighting a smile. He sobered immediately, and waited silently while Brandon carefully got to his feet and joined them at the kitchen doorway.

Tana trailed behind the pair, noting with a little thrill of pride that Ammon was very carefully measuring his steps to stay just ahead of his father as they made their way through the winding halls. Coming to a stop at a nondescript door, his fingers rested on the handle for a moment before he gently pushed it open.

Various keyboards were scattered throughout the room, some against the walls, others in the middle of the floor. Brandon ignored most of them and simply turned to the closest one to the door, staring down at the black and white keys. Ammon reached out and fiddled with a small dial in the keyboard's corner, then pressed a single key and smiled at the clear, muted sound.

"Just turning down the volume for you, dad," he whispered, stepping away behind Brandon. A tiny sound caught Tana's attention and she glanced back to see Gunnar and Henry peering around the doorway, watching silently. She held her finger to her lips, and Gunnar nodded, zipping his lips with a little smile.

For several minutes, Brandon only looked down at the keys, his expression unreadable, his chest laboring visibly with each breath.

"You can do it, daddy. Go on," Ammon murmured. "Try."

Very slowly, Brandon reached out and touched a single key, then spread his fingers to form a chord and pressed lightly down. Tana watched his face, holding her breath, as he released the keys and tried another chord.

His eyebrows were creased slightly in concentration, his eyes glued to his fingers as they crawled across the keys. Brandon fumbled slowly through different chords and notes with the occasional dissonant sound every few seconds, an accidental touch from a shaky, wayward finger.

A frown of frustration tugged his lips downward with each incorrect note, and barely a minute had passed before he withdrew his hand from the instrument. He stared down at the keys once more, then closed his eyes and sighed.

"You're doing so good, dad," Ammon breathed, concern written across his face as he watched his father. Brandon opened his eyes and glanced away from the keyboard, instead looking down at Ammon at his side, appearing surprised.

"J-Just - you're just b-being nice, but...th-thanks," he whispered to his son, touching the keyboard's shell gingerly. "It's a lot h-harder, but...it's o-okay, I think. I...I _r-remember,_ at least. I know _how,_ it's - it's j-just hard."

"Do you want to keep going?" Tana asked hopefully, keeping her voice soft. But Brandon shook his head, bringing his hand back to his side and flexing his fingers experimentally.

"N-No. It's...it's_ hard._ To d-do what I - w-what I want. I'm...I'm d-done. Tired. But th-thanks, Ammon," he added, the barest hint of a smile lightening his face as he brushed Ammon's cheek with a gentle finger, then looked to the side toward Henry and Gunnar, lurking in the doorway. "All of you."

He wasn't the only one who was done - having spent the last several minutes keeping quiet, Gunnar had finally reached his bursting point. His face suddenly exploded with glee, grinning brightly at Brandon.

"You _did_ it, dad! We knew you could! You _did_ it! That was _so cool!"_

Brandon ducked his head shyly, but the ghostly smile on his face grew a little in response, and then Henry slipped past Tana, gently wrapping his arms around Brandon's waist.

"You're _awesome,_ daddy," he giggled, hugging him tighter. "You did _amazing."_ Brandon wordlessly ran his fingers through Henry's unruly hair, then looked up at Tana, little lines of exertion around his eyes.

"Tired," he said quietly. "C-Can I...s-sleep?"

She jumped, ushering her children away with a quick wave. "Give him space to to get out of here, boys - who wants to take daddy to his room so he can rest?"

Predictably, all three of her sons raised their hands high while they scampered obediently into the hall, and she snorted in laughter. "Okay, family trip it is - just be slow and quiet, okay? No rushing him, no distractions."

Tana followed the little group back through the halls to their bedroom, watching as each boy quietly bid their farewells, and then finally closed the door behind them. She turned to find Brandon sitting on the edge of the bed, his chin drooping into his chest, and carefully sat beside him.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered, touching his hand softly in his lap. "I know trying to play that keyboard...that was so, so scary for you...in ways the kids might never understand. But you _did_ it."

For a few seconds, he looked down at her fingers, then curled his own around them for a heartbeat. His eyes were half-lidded, already dim and hazy with drowsiness.

"S-So _hard,_ though... n-n-not...not s-s-s'posed to be...th'h-hard," he mumbled, his eyes drifting closed even as he sat on the bed, his shoulders slumped.

Tana gently lifted his legs onto the mattress, drawing up a blanket around his shoulders and tucking a pillow beneath his head. Her eyes were drawn to the jagged scar across the back of his head as she settled the pillow in place, and she swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away.

"It's okay, Brandon. You were great. Go to sleep, okay? I'm so proud of you, and I love you." He only hummed softly in return, clearly nearly entirely asleep, and she smiled. In her pocket, her cell phone vibrated, and Tana hastily retrieved it, glancing at the screen. Quickly, she rose to her feet and answered it, exiting the room and closing the door slightly behind her before speaking.

"Ronnie!"

"Hi, T - just checking on Brandon. How's he doing? Sorry, we've been so busy, I meant to call this morning, but..."

She shrugged, forgetting he couldn't see her, and then giggled sheepishly, leaning against the wall.

"He's...well, this morning he accidentally sliced open his cheek shaving because he won't ask me for help, so...that's not good. He's still not talking to me."

Tana sighed, then brightened, straightening up. "But Ron, you'll be so proud of him! He wanted to try playing piano just now and he actually _can!_ You know, we didn't know...maybe he forgot how to play, right?

"He's not...I mean, he's not _good,_ it's not..._graceful_ or anything, he hit a lot of wrong notes, but that's just his hands! He still knows how, he just has trouble making his hands work properly. Just like with a lot of other things."

She heard Ronnie on the other end distantly calling for Olivia, and she grinned as he returned to the phone.

"Ahhh, fuck, and I _missed_ that? The one day I'm not with him, I missed my boy playing piano again? You're _killing_ me, Tana. That's just mean."

She giggled again, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter so Brandon wouldn't be disturbed. "Sorry, Ronnie. I did ask him if he wanted to wait for you, but - well, he was so nervous about it. I think...maybe he didn't want to disappoint you if he couldn't."

Ronnie sighed into the phone, and there was a long moment of silence. "Yeah, probably. But I keep telling him, he could never disappoint me. Wait - _God,_ Liv, Tana says I missed Bran playing piano for the first time! What the fuck is that? Hey, was he happy, Tan?"

Tana shrugged, biting her lip. "Not...not really. No. He was just upset that he was making mistakes. But he was relieved that he could still remember how to play. He just...he told me it shouldn't be that hard. He's sleeping now, he's really wiped out."

Ronnie sighed again, and she heard the sounds of rustling paper in the background. "Well, he shouldn't be so hard on himself...but I get it. Make sure you tell Brandon I'm really sad that I missed him kicking ass - what the fuck, come on! - and I'm really, really fucking proud of him. God, that's _huge!_ We'll be over in a few hours with all of our crap."

"Thanks, Ron. See you soon." Tana hung up and quietly returned to her room, resuming her book beside Brandon as he slept curled up within his blankets.


	64. Chapter 64

Watching Olivia lug first her suitcases, then his own, to the Flowers' front door, Ronnie felt especially useless. He stood on their front stoop and waited as his wife made three trips between the car and the door, emptying their belongings and lining up the suitcases neatly along the wall.

Despite lingering reservations about the wisdom of bringing Brandon home against his doctors' advice, he couldn't help his excitement, reveling in the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach as Olivia knocked on the dark wood.

_ I get to live with my little brother! God...maybe I can properly help him now._ He was startled from his musings by a bright-eyed little face peering from a crack in the door before Gunnar threw it wide open.

A miniature copy of his father's smile spread across the boy's face, and a spasm of pain seized Ronnie's heart. _Man, I miss Brandon's smile so much. It used to basically be his permanent state of being...and now he only smiles like that once in a blue moon. I've gotta try to make him happy again._

_"Uncle Ronnie!! Auntie Liv!!"_ Gunnar squealed, throwing his arms around Olivia's waist, then squeezing past her and hugging Ronnie. He grabbed two of their suitcases from the neat little line and turned, beckoning them inside with a quick jerk of his head.

"Oh, we're so excited! Mom's making dinner, but come on, your room is this way! I'll come back for the rest of your stuff, okay?"

Ronnie blinked in surprise, following Gunnar into the house. _Something's...different, isn't it?_ A sudden realization hit him as he looked around, bewildered.

"Hey, Gunny - where's the dog? He always greets me at the door, the fluffy little terror."

Gunnar stopped abruptly, his face falling. His eyes dropped to the floor, examining the dark hardwood. "Um...last night, when we brought dad home...we forgot about Anni and he barked at the door, really loud, like he always does. He hurt dad - you know, his head, his ears?"

He touched his own ear softly, tears sparkling in his eyes. "So - so we're trying to keep him outside for now, so he doesn't bother dad every time someone comes to the door. Mom says maybe we can just keep him locked up in a part of the house that dad doesn't really use, you know...but for now, he's just outside."

_Ahhhh._ Ronnie sighed, carefully releasing one of his crutches, clamping it beneath his arm and reaching briefly out to brush Gunnar's shoulder.

"That's rough, Gun. I'm sorry. We left our dog with the friend who's been watching him since the accident; we didn't want to bring him along for the same reason."

Gunnar sniffed, rubbing his eyes and smiling up at Ronnie. "That's okay, Uncle Ronnie. I get it, I don't wanna hurt daddy, but Anni just - he doesn't like it. He's been crying at the back door asking us to let him in. Ammon and Henry are out in the backyard with him right now, trying to make him feel better."

Ronnie grimaced. _Ouch. Poor fella._ He sighed, following along as Gunnar continued along the hallway, leading them to a guest room the drummer had never seen before, with a large green and blue striped blanket spread across the bed and a plush green rug beneath it.

He smiled at the blanket, looking up at Gunnar. "Hey, I know that blanket - your mom made that, didn't she?"

The boy grinned again, his tears forgotten. He trailed his hand across the neat rows of stitches and nodded. "Yeah! I'm just gonna go get the rest of your stuff, okay? Be right back."

He was gone in a flash, leaving Ronnie to settle on the edge of the bed and prop his crutches against the wall while Olivia began unpacking her suitcase.

"Poor Brandon," she whispered, glancing up at Ronnie as she removed a stack of shirts and placed them beside Ronnie, then retrieved a dozen wooden hangers from the closet and handed them to him. "I forgot about Anni, too. But he's _so_ loud...what a way to come home."

Ronnie nodded mutely, wincing sympathetically as he slid the shirts onto their hangers and stacked them neatly on the bed for his wife to hang.

"Yeah," he finally sighed. "What are we doing, Livvie? He shouldn't be home...not yet."

The unmistakable sound of wheels on hardwood reached his ears, and Ronnie quieted, continuing to pair the shirts with hangers in silence. Gunnar entered and left the suitcases by the door, then hovered uncertainly.

"Do you...um, do you guys need anything? Your bathroom is just through there, and you know where mom and dad's room is, and the kitchen and everything. Mom's just finishing up dinner, she says it should be ready in a couple minutes, so I gotta go set the table."

Ronnie grinned. "Looks like we have great timing, huh? Where's your dad, Gun?"

He shrugged, fidgeting with the hem of his Star Wars t-shirt. "Just in his room, asleep."

"Mind if I go wake him up, get him up for dinner?"

Gunnar shook his head, a smile returning to his face. "Yeah, go ahead! Mom just made him a smoothie with protein powder, I think - it's easier...for him too, right?"

Ronnie grinned, rising to his feet and retrieving his crutches. "Sorry, Livvie - gonna leave you alone for a bit. Duty calls. Brandon needs me." He winked at his wife, stumping past Gunnar to the sounds of her snorted laughter behind him.

"You're so dumb, Ron," she giggled as he exited the room and called after his retreating back, her voice bubbly with laughter: "You're married to _me,_ though, don't forget it!"

Ronnie chuckled as he meandered through the winding halls to Brandon and Tana's bedroom. The door was ajar and the lights were all out, giving the large room an unexpectedly cozy, cave-like atmosphere.

"Hey, Brandon?" he said softly, rapping on the door frame with his knuckles. No response, no movement from within. Ronnie felt for the light switch by the door and slowly adjusted the slider, then flicked the switch and dimly illuminated the bedroom.

In the newfound light, Brandon's slight form became visible, huddled beneath the blankets on the left side of the bed. Quietly, Ronnie made his way to the vacant side and sank down in the middle of the mattress beside his friend, lowering his crutches softly to the floor.

For a moment, he only stared at Brandon's pale face, half hidden by the cocoon of blankets. A crimson-brown slash marred the previously immaculate skin just below his left eye, and the drummer sighed deeply, his heart constricting at the sight.

_ He tries so hard to be independent, to not worry Tana...but he only ends up worrying her even more. If his hand had slipped any farther, he would've hit his fucking eye._

The faint sounds of clattering dishes drifted in through the open door, and Ronnie grimaced. _Dinner...but it feels wrong to wake him up, doesn't it? He's always so tired, like he can never get enough sleep._

Hesitantly, Ronnie reached out, his hand hovering just above Brandon's cheek, but abruptly he froze, arrested by the peacefulness of his expression.

_So...carefree. No burdens. He never looks like that when he's awake - not anymore. He's mostly just...worried. Sad._ He let his hand drop to the silky grey duvet, like a bird falling from the sky.

"It won't hurt to let you sleep another minute, will it, Bran?" he breathed, barely loud enough to hear himself. In silence, Ronnie sat and measured the time by his friend's long, slow breaths, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of the little mound of blankets.

As the sounds of settling dishware faded away, signaling the start of dinner, Ronnie roused himself. _Alright, Vannucci - stop being a baby. Wake him up._

Biting his lip and forcing away the burgeoning, sickly feeling that he was doing something unkind, he touched Brandon's cheek, following the line of his cheekbone with light fingers.

"Bran?" he whispered, hardly daring to blink as he watched the visible half of his friend's face. Raising his voice, he gave it a second try, tracing his cheekbone once more: "Bran? Wake up."

He snorted softly and grinned to himself as Brandon's nose wrinkled in protest, his eyelids fluttering weakly. "Mmmm?"

"Hi, little brother. I'm back! Did'ya miss me?"

Brandon's cracked eyelids drifted closed for a few moments, then slowly lifted again, revealing foggy, drowsy hazel eyes. He blinked several times, uncomprehending, then his eyes widened slightly and he stared, plainly drinking in Ronnie's face.

"Ron?" He lay still for a second, stiff with surprise, then visibly relaxed and sank back into the blankets, looking up at him in something close to awe.

_"Ron._ Y-You...y'c-came b-back."

"I sure did, B - in time for dinner, just like I said, remember?"

His eyebrows knitted together slightly in confusion, his eyes clouding over. "B-But I thought...you l-left."

"Only for a day, Bran. That's all. I'm back, and I'm gonna _live_ with you now! _I'm_ really excited, but I bet you'll be begging me to leave before you know it. You'll be sick of me," he joked, carefully brushing Brandon's untamed hair away from his eyes.

"Could n-never...never," Brandon mumbled, the corners of his mouth lifting as his eyes slipped shut once more. "L'v you."

"God, I love you too, little brother. I missed you so much, you know. It _hurt._ That one day felt like a whole lifetime. It was awful. I just kept wondering how you were doing."

"S-Same...same as a-always," he murmured, nestling farther into the blankets.

"Ah, that's not really true, is it, Bran? Tana said you played the _piano_ today! That's _amazing!"_

_"Did_ I?" His eyes opened again, clouded by a few seconds of confusion, and then sudden comprehension cleared them and his face fell, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"Oh...th-that. It's not really - I d-didn't...it was b-b-bad. I'm not...I'm no g-good. It's - it's hard."

Ronnie felt his heart crack inside his chest and he took a deep breath, steadying himself. _"Brandon_...it was a _huge_ accomplishment, buddy! _Huge!"_

Tears escaped from beneath Brandon's eyelids and Ronnie closed his own eyes, forcing himself to take slow breaths. _Don't fuck this up._

Very carefully, he lay down beside his best friend, his face just inches from his own, and whispered, "Bran...hey, look at me. Please."

Patiently, he waited, studying Brandon until his eyes finally opened. He lay blinking at Ronnie, his eyes misty as the drummer reached for his hand, then gently wiped the tears from his face with the other hand.

"I'm so damn proud. You made me _cry,_ B, as soon as I got off the phone with Tana. You can ask Livvie. And damn it - d_amn it,_ B-Brandon," Ronnie paused to cough, trying to clear the mammoth-sized lump in his throat, smiling shakily.

"God damn, you're gonna make me cry again, just thinking about it. Look...everything you do, every single day, that's all shit to be _proud_ of, B. You...you are the strongest person I know, one of the strongest people on this fucking _planet._ Most of those people out there, they don't even have the faintest idea how difficult this is, you know?

"And then _you_ \- Bran, just touching that damn keyboard was so, so, so brave. I _know_ you're scared - you're scared you're not gonna be able to make music again, huh? To do a show?"

The immediate crumpling of his friend's face was all the answer he needed, and Ronnie swooped in and hugged Brandon to his chest as he sobbed, broken.

"Aww, fuck, little brother...'scared' isn't even close to a strong enough word, is it?"

Brandon shook his head against Ronnie's chest, his body shaking with tears, and suddenly Ronnie lost his own battle with his waning composure, resting his chin over Brandon's shoulder and letting his tears fall onto the back of his shirt. Many minutes passed before either of them began to rein in their tears.

"I _love_ you. I fucking _love_ you, Brandon Flowers. You know that, right?"

Sniffling softly, Brandon nodded into Ronnie's shirt and squeezed him as tightly as he could in answer.

"Good. And I'm still gonna love you just as much if you never write another song, if we never do another show. I _know_ that would be so, so hard for you, but it...if you can't do music anymore, we'll find you something else, okay? I'll find something else _with_ you, and we'll do it _together,_ just like always."

Brandon shook his head. "Th-There _is_ n-nothing...nothing else, Ron."

Ronnie sighed, drawing Brandon closer. "Bran, you took such a massive - a _monumental_ step today. You _know_ you can play piano now. That's _huge._ You didn't know you could do that yesterday, right?"

Again, Brandon shook his head wordlessly, and Ronnie pulled away slightly so he could see his face properly.

"Maybe with a little practice, just a couple minutes a day, you'll start getting better and you'll realize that, too. Do you wanna practice with me tomorrow? Just like five minutes? Would you...would you like that, Bran?"

Brandon shrank back, his chin trembling, but he nodded anyway. _Yes!_ Ronnie smiled, reaching up to banish the tears from his friend's face, and then from his own. He chuckled softly, grinning at Brandon.

"Look at us; we're both giant messes, aren't we, B?"

A little smile tugged at Brandon's lips, and Ronnie snorted in laughter again, then grew serious, holding his gaze.

"But, Brandon...when we practice on that keyboard tomorrow, I don't give a single shit how many notes you miss, okay? I mean it. It's called 'practice' for a reason, isn't it?

"I'm gonna sit there with you and I'm gonna make damn sure those evil little gremlins in your head don't have any room to get in a word. I'm gonna make sure you know you're doing a fucking amazing, beautiful job, because you really fucking _are,_ okay?"

Brandon's smile waned briefly and then came back in full force, blinding Ronnie with its light. "Okay," he whispered, ducking his head shyly into the crook of Ronnie arm, sighing deeply. "Okay."

"That's my boy!" Ronnie grinned, running his fingers through Brandon's loose curls, enjoying the bright glow of pride and joy that mended his heart. He leaned down and kissed the shiny white scar that peeked through his friend's dark hair, smiling against his warm skin.

"God, I'm so fucking proud of you. I _know_ it's hard as shit for you, and _that's okay,_ Brandon. It's okay. But it _will_ eventually get easier, bit by bit, and I'm gonna be right there the whole time. Alright? Do we have a deal?"

A few seconds passed, then Brandon turned his head, peering up at Ronnie, a tiny smile lingering on his face. "Deal."

"Excellent," Ronnie breathed, smiling back. "I'm so, so, so fucking proud of you, B. I love you."

Brandon's smile grew once more. "Love you. And..._th-thanks,_ Ron. You...you _help."_

Ronnie grinned, kissing his cheek softly and basking in the feeling of Brandon smiling beneath his lips. "You're welcome, B. That's all I need to know. I fucking love you."

He sat back, watching him for a second, and then sighed. "I was supposed to be coming to fetch you for dinner. I hear your lovely wife made you a fantastic smoothie. Shall we go?"

"Okay."

Ronnie smiled, helping his friend free himself from the tangled blankets and watching him stand before retrieving his crutches from the floor on the other side of the bed and joining him.

"Tana makes bomb smoothies, I remember. Can I have some of your smoothie, Bran?" he asked, smirking mischievously as he reached his side.

The most beautiful, most ridiculous sound in the world graced Ronnie's ears, turning his smirk back into a proper grin - his best friend's giggle.

"O-Okay."


	65. Chapter 65

Ronnie pushed their dishes to the end of the breakfast nook table for Henry to clear away. He smiled as the young boy obediently piled them in the sink, taking care not to clink them together too loudly, and then looked up at Ronnie and Brandon hopefully.

"Okay, you just wanted water, right? And then you'll come play games with us?"

Ronnie nodded, and watched while his friend's youngest son filled a glass with cool water and grabbed the plastic bag of medications from the dark blue granite island. He placed them both on the table between Brandon and Ronnie, then disappeared with one last, bright smile.

"See you in the living room, daddy!"

Consulting the schedule in his phone, Ronnie dispensed the appropriate doses and glanced questioningly at his friend. "Okay, we've got seven pills tonight, B. Let me know if you want help, please."

Brandon shrugged, indifferent, as he blinked down at the little group of medications, then slowly reached out and plucked one from the table. He brought it to his mouth and picked up the glass, successfully swallowing the water and medicine.

He lowered the glass to the table, but placed it down unevenly with too much force and nearly upended it before Ronnie clasped his own hand around his, his fingers gentle.

"That's okay, Bran - can I help you with the water?"

Brandon sighed, closing his eyes briefly in defeat. "I don't...yeah," he whispered, his head sinking into his chest, his fingers going slack beneath Ronnie's. "Okay."

Ronnie didn't like that reaction, and he cocked his head slightly, watching his friend and then looking to the glass of water. "Bran," he started, releasing his grip around Brandon's hand on the glass, "It's _okay._ I really don't mind helping you at all - you know that."

Brandon shrugged, his eyes glued to the oak table. "But...b-but _I_ do. I don't...I want to_ t-try."_ He paused, inhaling deeply, then tore his gaze away from the table with visible effort, looking up at Ronnie with bright eyes.

"You s-said...you said to ask. I'll _ask,_ Ron. If...I-If I want help."

_ Oops, I think I jumped the gun too fast, didn't I?_ Ronnie chewed on his lip uncertainly, examining Brandon's face, then spread his hands flat on the table.

"You got me, B. I was wrong, I'm sorry. Go ahead."

Brandon was obviously taken aback, glancing between Ronnie and the remaining pills with clear trepidation, and Ronnie cursed himself. _Dumbass. Now you've made him feel like you think he can't do it himself._

"Go ahead, Brandon. It's okay. Just...take your time, okay? Slow and careful. There's no rush. Just be _careful."_

Brandon stared at Ronnie for another few seconds, then took a deep breath and returned his attention to the task in front of him. Methodically, he separated another pill from the group and slipped it between his lips, then wrapped his fingers around the glass with care and raised it to his lips, swallowing water once more.

Very slowly, he lowered it to the table, his hand shaking badly enough that the water sloshed precariously against the top of the glass. Ronnie smiled at his friend, then looked over the kitchen island to the sink where their dinner dishes had been placed, waiting for the dishwasher.

"Bran," he said slowly, looked back as a realization sunk fiery fingers into his heart, "Do you want a straw? Like we used with your dinner, with the smoothie? Do you think that would make it easier?"

Brandon only stared, and Ronnie found himself hoping he hadn't accidentally crossed a line again, but then the corners of his friend's lips turned upward in a hesitant smile.

"Try," he conceded softly, his eyes drawn to the visible tremors of his hand on the table. "I'll try. Okay."

_ Can't believe I didn't think of that sooner._ Ronnie caught hold of his crutches, pulling them from their places against the wooden ledge of the booth and hauled himself upwards, slowly examining the labels on each drawer and cupboard. _Man, I wish I remembered where Tana got that from._

"Not here...not there...not baking stuff...silverware...no...ah, damn," he mumbled, opening each and every drawer to inspect its contents. _These labels can't be trusted. Where are the fucking straws, Tana? Huh?_ Behind his back, the smile on Brandon's face grew with each little failure as he watched Ronnie bumble around his kitchen.

The drawers exhausted, Ronnie blinked up at the first cabinet and sighed heavily. Carefully, he leaned his right crutch against the counter, making sure the cushion rested against the granite so that it wouldn't slide sideways. Clamping his last crutch securely beneath his arm and wobbling on his one leg, Ronnie reached up to open the cabinet and peer inside.

"Fuck, only cups - _wait,_ here! I got them!"

Just as his fingers closed around the thin paper straws, Ronnie lost his balance and slammed his arm down onto the counter in an attempt to save himself, whimpering at the sudden explosion of pain in his elbow and in his other armpit as the remaining crutch jammed itself upwards.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," he whimpered, lowering his forehead to the cool counter and letting his second crutch slide from beneath his arm to the floor, bracing himself on the counter. A childish, high-pitched giggle suddenly caught his attention behind him, and Ronnie turned his head slightly to glare at the source.

"You think this is funny, Brandon?" he hissed, trying unsuccessfully to keep the whimper from his voice. "Are you mocking me? Are you _laughing_ at my pain?"

Brandon only giggled more, and Ronnie found himself grinning back at him despite the throbbing discomfort in his elbow. "I love your laugh, you know," he whispered. "It's like the greatest thing in the world."

Brandon giggled, shaking his head and covering his mouth, trying to regain his composure. "S-Sorry. Are you...are you o-okay?" Ronnie grimaced and wrinkled his nose, touching his elbow gingerly and flexing his arm.

"Oh, yeah...fine. Just the ol' funny bone, B. It's fine. Probably just gonna be a nice bruise." The blue and white striped straw clenched tightly in his hand caught his attention and he opened his fist to reveal a crushed paper straw, wincing.

"Damn it, Bran," he whined, holding it up and gripping the edge of the counter firmly with his free hand, "I broke your straw! Look! It's useless!"

Brandon collapsed into giggles once more, but waved vaguely at the counter. "No...look...m-more," he gasped, hiding his face in his hands.

Ronnie quirked his eyebrows at him, uncomprehending, but turned back obediently and understood - three other straws had dropped to the counter in his fall, scattered across the blue granite.

"You're too smart for me," he grumbled, smiling back at his friend as he exchanged his ruined straw for a fresh one and tossed it onto the island between the kitchen and the breakfast nook.

"Hey, B - do you think you can help me? I'll only crush the straw against my crutches if I try to carry it. Can you get up and pick up that straw for me?"

Brandon froze, the remains of his laughter dying on his lips as he gaped at Ronnie, and the drummer's heart seized in his chest. _Shit, did I say something weird? Did I fuck up?_

"You...you want _m-me_...to help..._you?"_ he asked, his voice suddenly tiny and unusually fragile, his eyes round. Ronnie bit his lip, tears pricking at his own eyes, comprehension tearing little fissures in his heart. _He doesn't feel like he can help anyone anymore...does he?_

"Yeah, Bran. Please," he said softly, squeezing the edge of the kitchen counter behind his back. "Please, can you help me? Will you get up and grab that straw for me?"

A few seconds passed in silence while they both stared at each other across the gulf of the kitchen. Eventually, Brandon eased himself to his feet and took a few careful steps toward the granite island, swiping up the paper straw. He stood still, blinking uncertainly at Ronnie.

"Thanks, Bran," he whispered, nodding back to the breakfast nook. "Will you take the straw back to the table for me, and sit down?" He watched as his friend carefully followed his instructions. Perched on the bench again, Brandon looked down at the straw in his hand in contemplative silence, rolling it back and forth aimlessly.

"Thank you, Brandon," Ronnie repeated, gazing down at his crutches where they lay akimbo on the kitchen floor. "Thanks for the help, B."

Resigning himself to the unpleasant, awkward task before him, Ronnie sank to his knees with a long sigh. He grasped each crutch, then gingerly pushed himself back to his feet, tottering precariously on his leg until he'd returned to his full height and returned them to their proper positions.

Stumping back to the table, strangely out of breath, he offered Brandon a lopsided grin as he dropped heavily back into his seat. "These damn things are harder than they look," he confided, leaning the crutches against the wall behind him.

Back and forth, Brandon rolled the straw between his thumb and index finger, oddly mesmerized. Ronnie watched too, for a moment, then gently placed his hand atop Brandon's, lowering it to the table, captured beneath his own, larger fingers.

"Is something wrong, Bran?"

A long silence stretched between them, and then Brandon shrugged. "It's s-stupid."

"Brandon, I just nearly broke my arm trying to find that straw for you. _That's_ stupid. Imagine trying to tell the doctors at the emergency room _that_ story, hm? Whatever you're thinking...it's not stupid. You can tell me. Please?"

As Ronnie had hoped, a tiny smile returned to his friend's face, definite but fleeting. He watched as Brandon took a slow, deep breath and looked up, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"Ron, I can't...I c-can't _help_ anyone. This," he whispered, sliding his hand from beneath Ronnie's and wiggling the straw at him.

_ "This_ is 'help' now. This is...n-nothing." He chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek, rolling the straw along the wooden table beneath his palm. "It's...stupid."

Brandon winced, his cheek twitching upward toward his eye in a sort of miniature shrug, and withdrew his fingers from the straw so he could hide his face in the crook of his elbow.

His back rose and fell for a moment, deep breaths wracking his torso, and Ronnie had to lean forward to make out his muffled words. "I don't...d-does that...make sense?"

Ronnie couldn't stand having the endless table between them another second, and he grasped his crutches once more and crossed to Brandon's side of the breakfast nook.

"Move over, little brother," he whispered, nudging his friend's foot beneath the table with the rubber bottom of a crutch. Brandon turned his head and peeked up at him, blinking vacantly, his cheeks shining with tears.

"Move over, B. I'm coming over there. Budge up. You've gotta make room for me."

Slowly, Brandon shuffled to the side of the bench, allowing Ronnie the space to slide in beside him and drop his crutches to the floor. He draped his arms around his shoulders and chest in a sideways hug, nestling his bearded chin into Brandon's neck.

"B, look..." he sighed, then stopped, unable to find adequate words. He stared at the cheery blue and white stripes of the paper straw until the colors blurred before his eyes.

"I love you," Ronnie finally whispered, his voice slurred and thick. Fighting the lump in his throat, he swallowed hard, feeling a warm tear slip down his cheek.

"Love _you,"_ Brandon whispered back, seizing the brief silence and leaning the side of his head against Ronnie's, his voice soft and warm. "I d-don't mean...don't feel bad. Please, R-Ron. I...I didn't mean to...to m-make you sad."

Ronnie took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain his composure enough to speak, but then Brandon forged suddenly ahead and he relaxed against him and fell silent, listening.

"Thanks for...f-for letting me help you, Ron. No one ever...no one e-ever asks me. You're the f-first person...w-who ever...I d-didn't mean that I...th-thanks," he sighed, his fingers finding Ronnie's hand and entangling his fingers within his own. "It's..._n-nice."_

Ronnie shook his head wordlessly against Brandon's shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of his sandalwood shampoo. "I fucking love you, Bran," he mumbled into his shirt. Taking a deep breath, he turned his head slightly, staring ahead again at the paper straw lying in front of them on the oak tabletop.

"Thanks for helping, B. I couldn't have done it without you," Ronnie whispered, squeezing his friend tightly. "Really. Thank you for helping me. See? Things are getting better already, right? You couldn't help me get a straw a week ago, could you?"

Brandon snorted weakly in laughter. "G-Guess not."

"See? Progress abounds," he chuckled, then raised his head reluctantly from Brandon's shoulder and wiggled his hand free so he could tilt his face toward his own, his fingers cupping Brandon's chin.

"I mean it, Bran - you _are,_ you're getting _better._ You've just gotta be patient. Watch out; someday I'll be asking you to do my taxes and you'll be looking back on this day like, 'Damn, I _wish_ Ronnie would just ask me to get him a fucking straw!'"

Brandon laughed, ducking his chin into Ronnie's hand. "I d-don't think s-so," he giggled, and Ronnie grinned at him.

"Oh, never say never, Brandon," he murmured, pulling away and picking up the straw, plunking it unceremoniously into the glass of water and nudging it closer to his best friend.

"Now, shall we see about finishing your meds?"

Brandon sobered and nodded, scrabbling for a large white pill and dropping it into his mouth, then raising the glass an inch or so into easy reach and taking a long sip from the straw, swallowing the medicine.

One by one, the five remaining pills dwindled away to a pair of lonely survivors. Finally, Brandon folded his tired hands in his lap and sighed. Several seconds passed, then he nudged Ronnie's side gently with his elbow, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Ron, can you...c-can you help?"


	66. Chapter 66

Following Ronnie into the amber-lit living room, Brandon found his children crowded on the patterned rug around a Monopoly board, with Tana on the loveseat nearby. Olivia sat cross-legged at the board's last edge in front of Tana's couch. His wife looked up with a sunny grin as he approached, patting the empty cushion at her side.

"Brandon, do you wanna come sit with me? There's not enough room for all of us to sit, so we're gonna hang out here and share a piece, and the kids are gonna roll the dice and move our piece for us."

Carefully, Brandon stepped around the board on the floor and sank down beside Tana with a soft sigh, accepting a small pile of multicolored paper money from her.

"Here, you can have the ones and the fives, we'll tag-team it. We're missing a piece, so there's not enough for everyone to play on their own. I thought we could share the horse, is that okay?"

Brandon shrugged, ambivalent, and leaned back into the loveseat, resting his head on her shoulder and fiddling absently with the pink and white bills. "Okay."

A soft scratching sound reached his ears, and Brandon raised his head and looked around, searching for the source of the noise. Tana touched his hand, then pointed to the French doors that led to the backyard.

"It's only Anakin, outside. It's okay."

Brandon squinted, just making out a dim golden shape beyond the doors. "Oh. W-Why's he...out there?"

Tana tilted her head, examining him with narrowed eyes, and Brandon wilted against the side of the loveseat. _I think I'm supposed to know this._ "S-Sorry, I don't...sorry."

"It's okay, Brandon. He was just...overly excited when we came home. He was too loud, he hurt your head. We...we didn't want him to do it again."

_Poor little guy. It's not his fault._ Brandon looked to the doors again, listening to the quiet scratching of the dog. "Oh. You c-can...let him in. It's...o-okay."

All three of his children looked up from setting up the Monopoly board at that, their eyes wide. Gunnar perked up, staring at Tana. "Oh, please, mom? Dad says it's okay!"

Tana looked uncomfortable, and Brandon winced. _I probably shouldn't have said anything._ She sighed, dropping her gaze to her knees. "Fine. We'll try again, someone go - "

Before she had even finished her sentence, Gunnar was at the back door, coaxing the dog inside gently. "Come on, Anni!"

He followed the goldendoodle back toward the board, grinning, and Brandon relaxed, seeing similar expressions on his brothers' faces. _They're happy. Good._

The dog circled around the Monopoly board, sniffing everyone diligently and whining in excitement before lying down with a soft snort on the bed beneath the engraved end table.

Settled next to Olivia by Brandon's feet, Ronnie tapped Brandon's knee and tilted his head back, grinning mischievously up at him and displaying a tiny silver boot in his palm.

"Hey, Bran, look - I'm gonna be the boot, so I can have two functional feet for a little bit!"

Brandon giggled, basking in the sudden rush of warmth at his friend's joke, and Ronnie beamed back at him, then hastily returned his attention to the boys as the game began.

Brandon's eyes lingered on the miniature boot sitting innocently beside the other pieces, then forced his gaze away, fighting an unpleasant roil of nausea. _A hiking boot...we'll never go hiking again because of me._

He bit his lip and watched his boys instead. _Ron's not bothered by it, so it shouldn't bother me either, right?_ Ammon took care to roll the dice on the carpet, minimizing the noise, and Brandon was surprised when Tana nudged him only a minute or two into the game.

"Hey, baby - do we wanna buy Oriental Avenue?"

Brandon blinked and sat up, peering down at the baby blue square card held up by Gunnar._ Dunno._ He shrugged, sinking back into Tana's shoulder. "If you want."

"Ohhh, so I'm the boss now, am I?" she teased, passing a golden hundred dollar bill down to Ronnie for the bank and squeezing Brandon's knee as she returned. She balanced the property card on the arm of the sofa, smiling down at it. "That's nice, I'll take it."

Another few turns went by uneventfully, and Brandon began absently laying out his bills on his lap - ones here, fives there, and watching the little figures travel around the board, money exchanging hands. Tana and Ronnie both bought everything they landed on, while Olivia and the children were more selective.

"Ron, that's our property. You owe us rent," Tana spoke up suddenly, looking between her little collection of cards and the board just as Ronnie moved to pass the dice to his wife.

"What? _No,_ that can't be yours, can it?" Ronnie's eyes gleamed as he craned his neck back to look at Tana's stash of properties. "No, I remember - you guys bought Vermont! This is _Oriental,_ Tan. Jeez."

"Oh, shut up and give us the money," she giggled, nudging his back gently with her foot and leaning to check the information on the card. "You owe us...um, six bucks. Hand it over."

Ronnie held up a pair of pink and white bills, winking at Brandon. "Okay, but I'm paying B, not you! He's the holder of the mystical ones and fives. Here you go, buddy. You're a whole six bucks richer. Go buy yourself something nice."

"You're d-dumb, Ron," Brandon giggled, reaching out to retrieve the money and carefully matching them with their respective piles in his lap. "Thanks."

As the game progressed, producing bright little lines of green plastic houses and red hotels, Brandon found himself zoning out, only startling to attention when ones or fives were required, and he would clumsily count them out and hand them over or collect them drowsily.

Eventually, he could no longer keep his eyes open, his head drooping into his chest. He felt Tana swipe the bills from his lap, adding them to the rest of her own colorful store of money.

"Brandon, baby, let me help you up. You should go to bed," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.

_Go...?_ "N-No." He mumbled, leaning into her shoulder. "Don't...w-wanna stay."

There was a long lull in the conversation, a silence only broken by the sounds of the game continuing in their absence, and then he felt her hand brush his forehead tenderly, felt her guide his head to the armrest of the loveseat.

A soft rustling filled his ears, then a soft, heavy weight settled over his lap and he curled his fingers in the blanket, bringing it to his chin. When his wife spoke again, her voice was tight and choked with tears.

"Of course, Brandon. You can stay, baby. Just rest."

_Everything I say makes her sad._ Brandon buried his face beneath the blanket, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths through the tension that suddenly filled his muscles. _I don't want to make her sad._

"Sorry - m'sorry, j-just - just wanna stay," he mumbled, feeling her lean into him to listen. "S-Sorry. If you d-don't...don't want...I c-can go."

A shaky inhale was Tana's only response for many seconds, and then he felt the blanket being pulled back from his face, felt her lips on his cheek, her fingers coasting through his hair.

"No, love. I want you to _stay._ You can stay."

A wave of relief swept through his body. "'Kay," he whispered, relaxing into the couch cushions and finally succumbing to the cloud of weariness that loomed over him. "L-Love you."

A tiny giggle reached Brandon's ears, and he felt her lips on his own. "Not more than _I_ love _you,_ Brandon. Now shh...go to sleep."

Brandon sighed deeply, and let the hushed giggles and whispers of his children carry him away to sleep.


	67. Chapter 67

The sound of soft footsteps on hardwood floor woke Brandon, and he blinked blearily in the dim light, trying to determine his location. He was lying on his back on a couch, his knees bent awkwardly to force his frame to fit within the confines of the cushions.

Long strands of golden hair lay across his chest, and he moved his head slightly, just able to make out his wife's petite nose through the mess of tangled hair over her face. Her head rested squarely on his chest, one arm wrapped firmly around him. She had squeezed herself onto the cramped couch alongside him, wedged between his body and the back of the couch in a way that seemed distinctly uncomfortable.

_ Why are we...here? We're not supposed to sleep here._ A quiet rapping of knuckles on wood interrupted his musings, and he looked up to find another slight blonde woman standing in the hall archway, her hair glowing in the light of a lamp behind her.

"Anyone awake in here?" she whispered while she tiptoed across the large woven rug, squinting in the darkness.

"Hi, Liv."

Olivia lit up, a bright smile blooming across her face as she drew closer. "Oh, Brandon! Lovely to see you this morning! Ron and I made everyone breakfast - we've already eaten and so have the kids, but you and Tana looked so peaceful that we all voted not to wake you up too early."

Brandon snorted weakly, and Olivia grinned and shrugged sheepishly. "Just telling the truth, honey. Anyway, we're keeping everything warm for you both in the kitchen if you're hungry...once she releases you," she winked, smiling at Tana's arm locked securely around his chest.

"Thanks," he said quietly. He felt his wife's arm tighten around him as he spoke and watched her eyes flutter open drowsily. She pushed her hair from her face and lifted her head, looking between his face and Olivia.

"Morning!" Olivia chirped, a hint of mirth bubbling in her voice. "Tan, I was just telling Brandon we made you guys breakfast. It's waiting for you in the kitchen, if you want."

Tana stared blankly at her, then let her head fall back to his chest with a grunt. "...'Kay. Thanks, Liv."

Olivia only giggled, then turned on her heel and padded down the hall and out of sight. Tana closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and smiled at Brandon.

"G'morning, baby."

"Morning," he said softly. "Tana, w-why are we...here?"

She blinked at him for a moment, apparently pondering something. "We all played Monopoly last night, and you wanted to sleep here when you got tired. I wasn't gonna leave you out here all alone, so..."

She trailed off, fiddling absently with the collar of his t-shirt. "So we're here."

"Oh." He closed his eyes. "I don't...d-don't remember."

"Oh, that's alright, baby," she whispered, struggling to sit up. "That's okay. Ronnie won, if you wanna know. I'm sure he'll be bragging about it all day."

"That's...good." He felt her fingers run through his hair, then she kissed his cheek softly.

"I love you, you know. Let's go get some food, honey."

Brandon swung his legs over the side of the loveseat and sat for a few seconds while Tana stood and stretched lazily beside him. Gripping the armrest, he pulled himself to his feet.

Smiling back at him, Tana started slowly toward the archway that led to the rest of the house, taking tiny little steps. Brandon stared down at his own feet, concentrating hard, and followed his wife through the halls. He barely noticed where they were headed, and stopped in surprise when she did, looking up.

Olivia stood at the stove, dishing up bright yellow scrambled eggs into a pair of plates. Ronnie grinned at them from the breakfast nook, seated at the table sealing Brandon's bag of medications. A glass of water with a striped straw stood beside him, with a small multicolored pile of pills nestled on the wood.

"Look, Liv - the lovebirds decided to join us!" He chuckled, grinning up at his wife.

"You guys should've seen yourselves, you were so cute. Sorry we ate without you - guess maybe that's rude, but...we didn't wanna wake you up."

Olivia carried the plates to the breakfast nook, settling two forks beside them, and Tana beckoned her over to the side of the kitchen, speaking softly.

Ronnie patted the table, inviting Brandon to come towards him. "Bran, all your meds are right here for you, okay? Livvie and I are gonna go get showered and dressed, we'll be back in a bit."

Brandon made his way across the kitchen to the oaken nook, and Ronnie gave him a quick bear hug, then reached for his crutches. "Morning, B. How ya feeling?"

Brandon shrugged, then took a step back to allow his friend room to stand. "Okay."

"'Okay' is good," his friend said firmly, closely examining his face. "That's good. I gotta go shower real quick, but I'll be back soon, okay?"

Brandon sank into the nook and nodded up at Ronnie, then regarded his plate of scrambled eggs in silence as Tana left Olivia's side and joined him with a little smile, waving their friends off.

Tana matched him bite for bite as he carefully speared little clumps of tasteless egg. About twenty minutes passed before he finally gave up and put the fork down. He'd only made it about halfway through the plate, and she looked up in surprise.

"Just taking a break, or are you done?"

He shook his head, pushing it away. "Done."

Her eyes dropped to the eggs, her head cocked to the side in thought. "Okay. You did good, baby."

Brandon offered her a little smile of thanks and turned his attention to his pills while his wife finished her own eggs. He made it through nearly all of them before his hand began to shake in earnest, and he paused and leaned back, closing his eyes.

"Do you want help?"

"No."

Tana hummed in acknowledgment, and they sat together in silence while he rested. Feeling a bit stronger, he reached for another pill, bringing it to his mouth and swallowing it with water, then downed the last one as well, his hand shaking once more.

"Good job, baby," Tana said, her voice a little distant as she collected their plates and rose, crossing the room to place them in the dishwasher.

Brandon reached for his glass of water to finish the last dregs, but overestimated the distance in his weariness. His hand knocked violently into the side of the glass and tipped it over the edge of the table, causing his heart to seize in his chest. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck - no!_

He was already rushing to apologize as he watched it crash to the hardwood floor and shatter spectacularly, sending shards of glass scattering throughout the kitchen, water splashing his legs and fiery lances of pain shooting through his skull.

"S-Sorry! I'm _sorry,_ I...I'm s-s-sorry," he stammered, scrubbing his face with his trembling hand, elbow supported by the table. Hot, stinging tears slipped unbidden from his eyes and Tana stood stock still across the kitchen island, immobilized, staring at him and the mess that surrounded him.

A scant few seconds had passed before Ronnie and Olivia rushed into the kitchen, stopping cold at the sight of the dangerous mess on the floor, wide-eyed and wild-haired. At their arrival, his wife came to life all at once, flapping her hands uncertainly and looking wildly about the room.

"Brandon, it's fine, just - oh, just _don't move,_ okay?" she finally insisted, her voice high-pitched, on the edge of hysteria. "I just, um - I've got to go find the...the vacuum. Ronnie, Olivia - stay where you are, it's a mess. I'll just - "

"Mom, is everything okay? Is dad okay?" Ammon yelled from another room, the sounds of running footsteps echoing through the house, growing louder as they approached.

"Fine, dear, it's just fine - stay out there please, there's glass everywhere in here. Keep the dog away too, please. But it's _okay,_ everyone is fine," she called, her voice shaking and panicked, clashing with her words.

His wife ducked out of the kitchen and disappeared, leaving Brandon slumped at the breakfast nook, surrounded by shards of broken glass and a puddle of water.

"Bran, you okay? The noise hurt your head, didn't it? Did the glass cut you anywhere?" Ronnie asked softly, pacing anxiously around the kitchen like a caged animal. His voice was strained, tighter than usual, and Brandon cringed. _I'm upsetting him. And Tana. And the kids. That's all I'm good for anymore._

Hearing his friend patiently repeat his questions, looking for answers, Brandon sniffed and rubbed his watery eyes furiously. Eyes closed against the tears, he nodded and shook his head in succession, unable to force words past the horrible lump in his throat.

Sighing instead, he listened to Ronnie's endless stilted pacing in the heavy silence. The sound of his crutches and single shoe, normally oddly comforting, instead suddenly brought deep shame that curdled Brandon's heart.

_He's always so worried...he used to be happy._ He sank farther into the table under the weight of his guilt, pressing the back of his hand flat against the smooth wood. Cradling his own cheek in his palm, Brandon reluctantly opened his eyes, searching for Ronnie.

"I'm s-sorry," he found himself whimpering, his voice nearly unrecognizable as he blinked balefully at the sideways figure of his best friend, the worry lines carved into Ronnie's face burning holes in his heavy heart. "S-Sorry. So...so stupid. I'm _s-sorry."_

Ronnie opened his mouth, but then the earsplitting roar of the vacuum blared into the room behind him, the harsh sounds of thousands of pieces of glass scraping against one another adding to the cacophony.

It felt as though a thousand jackhammers were pounding his brain into pulp, and Brandon shrank away from the pain and pressed the side of his head hard into the table, covering his exposed ear tightly with his hand and openly weeping.

As abruptly as it had started, the deafening noise ceased and Brandon jumped as Tana touched his shoulder gently, sending a shockwave through his skin. He pushed her hand away roughly, then pressed his arm back over his head, trying to block out the crashing waves of pain.

He could tell she was speaking to him now, but her whispers were partially drowned by his flood of uncontrollable tears and the crunching of glass beneath someone's feet.

"Forgot...sorry. Honey...okay? Sorry, I...swear...not mad about the water...not mad."

"The fucking _vacuum,_ T - come _on,"_ Ronnie snarled, sounding much closer now than Brandon had anticipated - and very, _very_ angry. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly at the swirling, ever-changing shapes in his vision, and jerked his head up woozily in an attempt to find his friend - he had to comfort him, apologize for the accident; he had to do _something._

The quick movement caused his stomach to lurch as if pulled by a rope, and Brandon moaned at the sudden wave of vertigo that swept through his body. Feeling his energy drain away with each passing second, sucked away by his salty tears, he obeyed his treacherous body's demands and sank back down.

Returning his cheek to the table, cushioned only by the back of his hand, Brandon closed his eyes to keep the flashing lights at bay. Eventually, the worst of the pain faded away and his tears ran dry.

Several long seconds of blissful silence filled the kitchen, and then Tana's voice snapped like a rubber band in his ears, tears choking her words._ "Fuck,_ Brandon - God, I'm so _sorry,_ baby. I...I forgot. I can't believe...I should've known. _Fuck!"_

Unable to find the strength to respond, Brandon only sighed. He felt something heavy drop onto the bench of the breakfast nook beside him, and opened his stinging eyes to find an achingly familiar bearded face looking back at him, mirroring his own position, his cheek resting against his hand on the table, his hair damp and unruly.

"Hi," Ronnie whispered, the very edges of his dark, velvety eyes crinkling in the barest ghost of a smile.

Bran sniffled, rubbing the soreness from his face and blinking at him. "Hi."

"Want me to get you out of here?"

He nodded, but closed his eyes once more. "I d-don't..."

_Don't what? God damn it, stupid...what's the fucking word?_ Squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, he hid his face in the crook of his elbow, dry sobs wracking his weary body again.

He felt Ronnie's fingers lightly touch his arm, experimentally, then felt the warm, soothing weight of his friend's arm around his waist, his head nestled into his shoulder. "Tired," Brandon finally bit out, pressing his burning eyes into his forearm.

"I know, B," Ronnie whispered after a moment. "I _know._ It's okay. You've been through hell, and you're hurting, and you're tired. We can just stay here. We'll just hang out right here for a while, shall we? I'd really like that...if you'll let me. Is that okay?"

Brandon grunted his assent, unable to find the strength for anything more, and Ronnie's arm tightened around his torso. He could feel his friend's beard tickling his bicep, and he almost smiled at the realization. Soft scraping, sweeping sounds surrounded them for a few minutes, muted footsteps bustling around the kitchen, and then finally, the world was silent.

"Don't feel like you have to talk, I just...I really, really love you, Brandon," Ronnie whispered in his ear, his voice warming Brandon's heart like a burst of sunshine. "You're my favorite person and I'm..._man,_ B. I'm just so sorry you have to go through all this bullshit. I'm sorry. I _love_ you. If I could switch places with you, I would."

_ I know._ Brandon sighed, freeing his hand from beneath his tortured head and searching for Ronnie's beside him. Larger fingers captured his own within seconds - tentatively at first, then squeezing heartily.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, Bran," Ronnie murmured again, as if he could never say it enough. "You make me so happy, B. You know that, don't you?"

He squeezed Ronnie's hand in wordless response, and felt the light brush of a kiss on the back of his head before his friend relaxed against him, his cheek resting against his shoulder once more.

Many, many minutes passed before Brandon felt strong enough to finally lift his head, but when he turned his neck to look Ronnie, he found him beaming, his eyes shining as if Brandon had just won the Olympics.

"Do you feel better?"

Brandon nodded slowly, tilting his head in confusion. "Why..." He coughed, clearing his sore throat, and winced at harsh, dry sound of his own voice. "Why are you...l-looking at me like - l-like that?"

A massive grin suddenly took over the drummer's face, wrinkling his eyes with an overload of happiness. "Because I'm just really proud of you, B. Really, _really_ proud of you."

Brandon looked down, blinking absently at their interlocked hands for a moment. Something pulled at his heart, weighing it down, and he whispered, "Why? I d-didn't...I can't - can't d-do anything."

The smile melted from Ronnie's face like snow in the desert, and then he pulled his hand from Brandon's and enveloped him in a hug.

"Because you're fucking _amazing,_ okay, Brandon? I don't give a shit if you knock over a hundred glasses every damn day. It doesn't matter. You make people _happy,_ isn't that enough? It's enough for _me._ You make _me_ happy. You're my fucking hero."

For a minute, Brandon was silent, and the echoes of voices choked with tears filled his head. He hugged Ronnie tighter, pressing his chest hard against his immobilized arm, and took a deep breath.

"But...b-but I - I make Tana sad. I _see_ it. And you, too. I m-make you _cry,_ Ron. I don't...I d-don't want to make anyone sad. I'm not _s-supposed_...to m-make anyone s-sad."

Ronnie gave a strange little snort of not-quite-laughter, and Brandon felt his friend's chest rise and fall against him with a great sigh. They were both quiet for a time, and then Ronnie released him from the embrace and pulled away, his eyes soft and serious.

"Brandon Flowers, you do _not_ make anyone sad. I _promise._ We all just...we're adjusting to everything, but at the same time, we don't _want_ to adjust, because we wish all of this bullshit wasn't happening to you at all. _That's_ what makes us sad, sometimes. Not you."

_Oh._ Brandon swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to the tiny sliver of empty bench between them, then closed his eyes.

"You...y-you liked me b-better _before_...didn't you? All of you. I'm s-stupid now, and - and clumsy, and_ w-worthless._ I can't _remember_ anything, R-Ronnie," he pleaded into the darkness behind his closed eyelids, words tumbling out now faster than he could even think of them.

"I - I don't...I d-d-don't even know where...w-where things are in - in my own f-fucking _house,_ Ron. I'm_ stupid._ T-Tana, she...I _hurt_ Tana now...n-not help her. I _see_ it, R-Ronnie, I _see_ it. I'm n-not - not good for her anymore. I'm not the same. You wish...you w-wish _this_ didn't happen b-because I was...._m-more_ before...d-don't you?"

There were a few seconds of silence, and then a pair of strong arms surrounded him again in a hug even fiercer than before. "No," Ronnie whispered gruffly, his voice hoarse and unsteady in his ear.

_"No,_ Bran. We love _you._ Not...not the Brandon we had...before. We love_ you,_ the Brandon that's right here in front of me. Come on, B - you know I'd never lie to you, right?"

_ That's one thing I still know, at least._ He nodded weakly against Ronnie's shoulder, but lost control of the fragile dam inside his chest and dissolved into tears once more, soaking the bright fabric of his friend's shirt, the world in front of him blurred by salty water.

"God, Brandon," Ronnie mumbled, squeezing his chest so hard for a moment that it was difficult even to cry, "I _love_ you."

The drummer was silent for a long while, letting Brandon's tears run their course, and then he sighed and pulled away, cupping his face with a hand that trembled softly against his damp skin, gently compelling him to hold his gaze.

"Look, I just...I want you to be _happy,_ little brother. You're my _family._ You're the best friend I've ever had. If there was a Hall of Fame for friends, it would just be you.

"That's it, B. I just want you to be happy, because you do so much to make me happy, and you don't even know it.

"And I _know_ life is hard as shit right now, but I promise it'll get easier. I _promise._ I'm gonna be right here, with you, forever, because that's where I _wanna_ be. And I'm gonna do everything I can to make _sure_ you'll be happy again. You deserve to be the happiest damn person in the whole world. Okay?"

"Okay," Brandon whispered, swallowing hard. There was nothing in Ronnie's eyes but absolute sincerity, and his friend smiled brightly as the word slipped from his lips.

"Come on," he murmured, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb, skating softly over one of his scars from shaving, then letting his hand fall away. "You're tired. Let me take you to bed, okay?"

Brandon nodded, his shoulders slumped in fatigue. Ronnie picked up his crutches and stood carefully, examining the floor and nudging little remnants of shattered glass out of the way with the rubber foot of his crutch.

"Careful, B," he cautioned, looking anxiously at Brandon's bare feet. He stood out of the way, watching closely as Brandon seized the edge of the breakfast nook's table and clambered to his feet. He clutched the edge for support for another few seconds while he found his footing, then gave Ronnie a little nod.

The drummer gave him a quick grin, then turned and led him through the kitchen and into the hallway. Brandon followed obediently behind him, feeling his heartbeat slow to match his friend's halting steps as they made their way through the maze of halls.

Brandon stopped abruptly as they passed the archway into the living room, hidden from view by the edge of the wall, and stared - Tana and Olivia sat on the loveseat together, conversing in low voices, and it was painfully clear even from this distance that his wife had been crying.

"Come on, Brandon," Ronnie urged him on, just a few feet ahead in the hall, watching, his eyebrows knit together in concern.

Brandon looked to him, then back to the couch, his eyes flickering back and forth between their wives and his friend's earnest face.

"That's not your job right now, B," Ronnie whispered, taking a few careful steps back toward him. "You need to _rest._ Livvie will take care of Tana for you. That's not all on you anymore. It's okay. She'll be alright, I promise. Come on; come with me and rest."

_But...I hurt her._ There was a horrible pang in his chest as he looked back to Tana, watching her drag her hand across her ruddy, tear-stained face and lean into Olivia, staring morosely down at the carpet.

"She's sad."

Ronnie sighed, closing the last of the distance between them. "It's not your fault, Brandon. Olivia will help her. It's alright. Come on. Tana will be okay. You need to rest before you end up just falling over - and as much as I wish I could, I can't carry you right now. Come with me, _please?"_

Brandon's eyes returned to his wife once more, and he blinked away tears, staring at her. Olivia was whispering something in her ear now, her arms wrapped around her, and Tana nodded, sniffling softly.

"She'll be okay, B. Livvie's got her. Come on."

"...Okay," he said at last, but he couldn't force his leaden feet to move until Ronnie gingerly leaned his shoulder into his own, just grazing his skin.

"Come on, B. You need to rest."

The bearded drummer took a few steps ahead and paused, looking back expectantly. Brandon forced first one foot, then the other, forward, staring down at his feet, trying to distract himself from what he was leaving behind.

"Tana'll be _fine,_ Bran. I promise," Ronnie repeated gently. "Come on." He led Brandon onward, pausing every few yards to make sure he was still being followed until they reached an open door.

"Go on and rest, B. Do you want me to keep you company, or would you rather be alone?"

Brandon shivered, dimly remembering waking up alone the previous day...and how it had only ended in tears and confusion.

"Can...can you s-stay? Please?"

A broad smile split Ronnie's face at once, brightening the softly lit hallway.

"Hell yes, Brandon. I'd love to."


End file.
